Settling, Surviving, Thriving, Living
by Patience Tyme1
Summary: The blood of the Walkers may not have been human; but hers was, as it dripped to fall to the tiled floor of the bathroom. The Walker blood taught her to survive, but seeing her own blood, flooding rapidly from her veins through her own selfish actions, taught her something even more important-what it meant to live. Completed, canon Bethyl story, leading up to a season 5 prediction!
1. Selfish

**Hello! Welcome to my very first Bethyl fan fiction! I've written stories in the past, but always of the Dramione variety. So this will be a first of sorts for me—new show, new characters, new genre, new platform, new everything, really. I've done quite a bit of research on ****_The Walking Dead_**** front (ask my Tumblr followers, who continue to follow me, despite my inevitably annoying, yet ****_thorough_**** live blogging in the last few weeks). **

**The research will come to be particularly applicable here, as I'm going to follow the two characters from early in season two through to beyond their separation in the fourth season. The bulk of this will be canon, simply following the characters through a combination of scenes we've already seen to provide possible thoughts and reactions behind the interactions and scenes I've created to give us further insight into their relationship. **

**For the conversations that we've already seen, I think it's important to show a lot of details on the internalizing both of these characters partake in. They are both thinkers, not necessarily talkers. When they choose to speak, it's for a specific reason. But, more often, they stay quiet and observe, which leads to a lot of interesting internal things to explore. At least, in my opinion anyway.**

**That being said, I'm going to try to keep this as canon as possible. Some changes may come down the line, but I'm going to try to stay away from that. After all, in a ship with as much evidentiary support from the source material as Bethyl, embellishment isn't truly needed, is it? :-)**

Chapter 1—Selfish

There was so much blood, but none of it was human. Whatever doubts may have infected her mind previously, allowing hope to cling to every possible crevice of her brain, it was gone now. The revelation prompted another round of tears to reek through her body, as she convulsed against Patricia once more.

The surrounding area was dropped once more in to stark silence, as the gunshots finally finished ringing out. All that could be heard was the heavy breathing of those who had fired, adrenaline undeniably pumping through their veins, and Beth's sobs. She brought two hands up, one to rid each eye of the tears that inhibited her vision.

It was then that she saw it. It would appear the travesty was not done, as she had briefly hoped was the case. Another girl made her way out of the barn.

The change in the group could be felt instantaneously. Carol released a sob of her own as she sprung forward. Beth, being aware of the circumstances that had prompted the group to stay with them as long as they had, discovered directly what the underlying implication was. In a flash of recognition that seemed impossible considering she had no previous acquaintance with the girl, she knew this was the one they were looking for.

Daryl Dixon lunged and caught Carol at the last moment, preventing her from approaching her daughter. Beth bit her lip, as she battled to keep a groan of complaint at bay. _The blood is not human_, she reminded herself.

For it was the blood, in the end, that proved to her that her father had misguided her, misled her. The decaying fluid that leaked from every hole punctured through the creatures could do nothing but confirm that her mother was not sick. She was, in fact, deceased.

She had briefly felt cheated; she still did, if she were to be completely honest with herself. But, as the tears continued to erupt from her eyes, she couldn't help but turn them in the direction of the poor grieving woman, who did little to fight the hold that the henchman had on her. She erupted in another round of tears of her own, as Beth felt a twinge of pain for the collective of the group.

Beth had admired the adherence to which they had pursued the girl, of whom she was now ashamed to admit she couldn't remember her name. The dedication with which they had served and the hope with which they had carried out the task was now taking its toll, as each member of the group looked more bereaved than the last, with the only possible exception being in the form of Shane.

But even as the Sheriff stepped forward and removed his gun to eliminate what Beth struggled to acknowledge they saw as nothing resembling the girl they had once looked for so adamantly, she found she couldn't keep her eyes off of Carol and Daryl Dixon. She knew that Daryl had particularly troubled himself in the search, going so far as to earn several injuries in the process, including taking one of his very own arrows to his side. He held Carol in his arms, but it seemed as if very little, if any, of his focus was dedicated to her. His eyes stayed trained on the little girl, up to the very moment that Sheriff Rick placed a bullet in Carol's daughter's head.

The sound drew Beth's attention once more, as another wave of tears hit her. She felt shaky, as if she hadn't eaten in over a week; an excessive fatigue and weakness overtook her body in protest. Her feet moved forward on their own accord, as she cried out for her mother, the woman she had believed to be merely in the waiting for a cure until this very morning.

She knew she shouldn't. She really did. But she couldn't resist. Her mother's arms were outstretched, almost as if they were reaching out for her. She had to embrace her, one last time.

It was a decision she paid for dearly, as she discovered her mother wasn't truly dead after all. Suddenly, several pairs of arms grabbed her and tried to release her from her mother's hold. It was then, under the direct scrutiny afforded to her by her sheer proximity, that she could actually see the bullet holes in her mother's body. The darkened blood still leaked from the piercings, and, yet, she still managed to come after Beth, mouth agape and teeth decayed.

That was it, she reckoned. That was the moment the innocence left her.

:::~:::

Daryl clenched his fists as little miss First Sheriff's words hit him like a brick to the gut. Selfish? _She _had the guts to think _he_ was selfish? He had been in a shitty mood before she had come to see him; now he was damn near unapproachable.

"Selfish?" He yelled, knowing he was beyond the point of caring. "Listen to me, Olive Oyl. I was out there looking for that little girl every single day. I took a bullet and an arrow in the process! Don't you tell me about me getting my hands dirty! You want those two idiots? Have a nice ride," he ended with a scoff.

"I'm done looking for people," he added, just to make sure she didn't come looking for him again. This group was done, broken as far as he was concerned. And he didn't need her riding him to fix it. He wasn't blind, he could see the future written all over the wall of that shitty RV; it was only a matter of time till things fell apart. Nothing he could do about that, he reckoned, so he made his peace with it and kept to the shadows as much as he could.

When she finally wandered off, Daryl felt as if he were being pounded in the gut with guilt. He kept telling himself that the pain of Sophia's loss didn't touch him—that he didn't feel in any way responsible, that he had gone above and beyond his call of duty as the muscle of the group. But there was still this nagging pressure, this belief that if he'd only been faster, smarter, more prepared—maybe he could've succeeded.

That was partially why he had no interest in going to look for Rick and Glenn. He knew it was in the interest of the farmer's daughter—Lori had made sure to tell him that in the hopes of motivating him to do something about it—and he just couldn't bring himself to do it again.

He had earned it, he told himself. Despite whatever Olive Oyl may have said, he knew he had been more than his fair share of selfless lately. He couldn't say he was surprised by her having the guts to say that to him. No one seemed to pay much mind to him, except when they needed him for something, of course. Then he was the most fucking valuable person left on the face of the earth.

Selfish, his ass. He couldn't do it again. He wouldn't. Not caring, he knew, was far easier.

:::~:::

She should feel selfish; Maggie had told her as much. This situation, in which Beth definitively declared what it was that she wanted from this life, now that she knew the horrors it had the ability to exact, reeked of irony for her.

Maggie had often told her as a child that to be strong you had to demand what you wanted. Compromise and kindness are key, of course; but speaking out, declaring your intentions, and making your opinions known is a crucial first step towards finding a suitable compromise for all involved, or so she had been told.

Now, it would appear that was only the case for when those who surround you cared for what you had to say. If your opinion was unconventional, it was apparently better left unsaid.

She should feel terrible, Maggie told her, for putting her father, sister and Patricia through the potential of losing her on top of the losses suffered from the barn. But, try as she might, she simply couldn't muster it up from within.

She knew what she wanted. Shouldn't it be that simple? Why did no one understand her point of view? She had been exposed to the horrors of this world in the most hideous possible way, after an extended period of downplayed deceiving.

Beth knew it wasn't her daddy's fault. He hadn't maliciously misguided her or led her astray; he had genuinely believed her mother and the others were simply ill and in need of a cure. Regardless of intent, this was where they were. She now had a stack of bodies in her yard, loved ones that she had now suffered the loss of twice instead of just once.

Ending it was her only option. All she could see in her future was more loss. Eventually, wouldn't they all die in this way? Weren't those creatures—_Walkers_?—wasn't that just an undeniable future? Weren't everyone's days just numbered? Tallies to be nicked off?

When she explained her position to Maggie, it would appear that ending it was not her only option. She should, instead, continue to live, despite her misery and her conviction that with this life came only forced compromise, surviving and raw pain. She understood that it was selfish to make this decision without consulting others. But, were they not equally selfish, disregarding her deepest wish?

Andrea came to stand guard over her. Beth waited, expecting yet another antipathetic adult. When no disapproving words came her way, she prompted her, the silence serving only to add to her discomfort. Once she gathered that Andrea actually agreed with her, that she needed to be able to make her own decisions, Beth barely registered any further words spoken on the issue. Suddenly, Andrea had opened the door and not only allowed her to pass, but encouraged it.

She was in the bathroom before she knew it. She acted blindly as she looked for something to break the glass. It all seemed to pass in a blur—the hairdryer, a tight grip, a jolt as the force of hitting the mirror shot back on her arm, a groan as she realized she wasn't even strong enough to succeed in breaking the glass on the first try. A second attempt came and went as quickly. She knew she must hurry; Andrea bought her minutes, not decades. A few more strikes and she had managed to break a few shards free, enough to get the job done. Assisting her father in repairing various injuries around the farm over the years had provided her with enough knowledge to at least do this correctly.

She gripped the glass, mindlessly noting that her fingerprints smudged over the shiny surface immediately. Beth hesitated for a meager few moments, as a flicker of indecision sprung to her throat, causing it to ache. She disregarded it and quickly struck at her wrists.

Yes, she had more than managed to do enough. Pain ripped through her, straight from her wrist, all the way up to her shoulder, before spreading to her brain. What had she been thinking? She started to cry once again as she saw the blood drip down the sides of her wrist to fall to the tiled floor. How could she have been so naïve? So childish? Had she honestly expected no pain to befall her after such an action?

Either way, the pain had done its job, she thought, as she heard sudden banging on the door. Maggie broke through and apologies immediately erupted from her lips.

She promised on that day to never be so selfish again. That was a promise she intended to keep.


	2. Moving Forward

Daryl connected the dots the second Maggie and Carl came stumbling out of the prison. People thought he was stupid, but he was anything but. When his eyes fell on the baby with no Lori in tow, he knew immediately what had happened.

Rick's reaction didn't surprise him neither. Daryl had come to realize that Officer Friendly was, well, friendly. No one deserved to lose someone that meant as much to Rick as Lori did, especially not the man who managed to keep their shit together on a daily basis.

Except it looked like Rick had none of his shit together now. With a pang of guilt erupting in his stomach, Daryl stood at alert. No matter how hard he tried to ignore it or find a way to get rid of it entirely, Merle's voice was always in the back of his mind, accusing him of things he knew he had nothing to do with. But, with a voice like Merle's lingering, it couldn't help but make him wonder.

He shook his head to get rid of the voice, as it whispered that Officer Friendly was no friend of his; let him fall apart, let the group fall apart. Instead, he took action.

When Daryl looked at the little baby, all he saw was Sophia. He couldn't lose another one. Losing the first had been hard enough as it was; he would admit to no one that he had shut down for a long time after that, but he knew that was exactly what he had done.

"The good news is she looks healthy. But she needs formula, and soon or she won't survive," Hershel started.

"No," Daryl interrupted, pacing. "No way. Not her," he grumbled and closed his eyes briefly to avoid the flash of Sophia his brain gave him. "We ain't losin' nobody else. I'm going for a run." He knew he needed to do this; moving forward here was crucial. Sitting around would do none of them any good. He'd do nothing but lose himself in his own shitty past. If he moved forward, if he were proactive, maybe he could get the thoughts of Sophia out of his head.

He vaguely agreed to Maggie going on the run with him as his eyes moved to Rick and Carl. Daryl did the math; he suspected the kid had taken his mom out. He knew what kind of mark that could leave on a person.

Scanning the crowd, his eyes fell on Beth; he knew instantly and unexplainably that she was the one to trust.

"Beth," he called as he tipped his finger to ask her to meet away from the bulk of the group. She followed silently and submissively. To Daryl, she reminded him of a tame golden retriever. He wasn't sure what to do with that, honestly.

"Kid just lost his mom," he started with a whisper as he turned to face her and indicated towards Carl. "His dad ain't doin' so hot."

"I'll watch 'em," she interjected, surprising Daryl. He didn't think he could remember her saying much, to anyone really, let alone being perceptive enough to read where he was going with this conversation. He pushed past his confusion and nodded his appreciation.

She immediately set off and got the kid from her old man. Daryl allowed himself to look at her curiously for only one more moment before he and the other Greene sister began to make moves to get ready for the run.

:::~:::

_"You're pregnant?" she spat. "How could you do that?"_

Beth shook her head once more in an attempt to shake those words loose. As she stood on the second floor balcony of Cell Block C bouncing the joyful baby that she had once condemned to sleep, her previous words haunted her.

It had only been a few days, but she already couldn't imagine not having this little bundle of joy around the prison. She breathed life and hope into every cell of the place. To Beth, the baby represented all that was worth living for—the prospect of a future and the powerful potential for hope that came with that. This, she thought, was _living_, not meager surviving.

She had finally unpacked her bag a few days ago. It had taken her a while to do so, as she just couldn't escape that feeling that they would need to run again. But then her daddy had said something to her; he thinks this can become a _home _for them.

That very concept frightened Beth; she had started to rely on being afraid, but this was a whole other kind of fear. Her father had such potential for positivity in him—a well that would never run dry.

She knew she had it in her too, it just wasn't always easy to make withdrawals after the winter that they had. But, this time, when her father reassured her, she didn't second-guess him, the likes of which she would admit had been her default setting ever since the situation with the Walkers in the barn. She allowed his hope to fill her up and, suddenly, she found that her well had a seemingly endless supply as well.

Every time she held, heard or saw the baby, she got another refill on her well. To Beth, it was almost as if God had sent this little bit of magic their way.

She cringed as her words to Lori from so long ago came crashing upon her once more. She was grateful for the miracle that was the baby, but the delivery had been poorly executed on God's part, in Beth's opinion. In this world, loss was a given. But, to lose a mother and get a child in exchange? Beth could barely tolerate the thought of it. She couldn't even image how Rick or Carl must be feeling.

Beth was hopeful. But she was not blind. She knew there were still travesties in this world, and that's precisely what she labeled the loss of Lori as.

This newest loss drew stark attention to what she had nearly given up. When she looked at the baby, and Lori's sacrifice, she felt particularly petulant. She knew now what she couldn't admit then; her actions that day had been nothing more than those of a selfish teenager. Beth was almost embarrassed at the stand she had made at the farm so long ago. Ever since that shard of glass met her skin and the blood came pouring from her veins, she knew she had made the wrong choice. Moving forward was the right choice. _Living_ was the right choice. Not only surviving, but truly living. She wouldn't make that mistake again, she assured herself of it.

With a sigh, she reminded herself of what that had taught her—dwelling on the past did nobody any good; moving forward was key to surviving. With that, she did her best to tuck her past back where it belonged. She jostled the baby once more as she finally started to ease to sleep.

"Need'a hand?"

Beth startled at his voice and quickly looked down to see if her disruption had stirred the baby. Thankfully it hadn't.

"She's just sleepin'." Beth said casually as she made her way towards Daryl's perch by the stairs so she could speak quietly enough to not wake the baby.

"Did ya hear?" he asked and she noted that he took care to match her tone. "They've named her. Judith. Guess they weren'a fan of Lil' Ass Kicker."

Beth smiled, unable to hold it back at his pet name for Judith. Although she would never call her as such, she had to admit that Little Ass Kicker did fit the bill. "Judith is nice," she said as she lifted her eyes from the baby to meet his. He only had eyes for baby Judith and Beth couldn't help but admire him for that. "Would you like to hold her?"

Beth could read from Daryl's mere presence here that he had an interest in tending to the baby. It was obvious to her very early on that his Little Ass Kicker held a particular spot in his heart, a fact that was confirmed by his swiftness to action in regards to a run and his being the first to feed her.

But, now, standing here, Beth knew Judith was what he had come for, there was no doubt in her mind. Therefore, when he made a show of shaking his head as if he wasn't interested, she knew it was nothing more than a play to conceal his feelings on the situation. And, just like that, she knew how to crack that shell.

"Really, you'd be doing me a favor. My arms could use a bit of a break, to be honest."

He was by her side in a minute, attempting to scoop Judith into his arms. His actions were pronounced in their novice status, as he was a little rougher than one should be with a child that needed to stay asleep. Her eyes shone as she saw an opportunity present itself.

She may not be skilled in the art of Walker killing. But tending for a child? She thought perhaps that could be right up her alley. She was admittedly moderately embarrassed as she felt her cheeks warm at the same realization that had hit her every time she tended to Judith's needs over the last few days—Daryl had been the one to finally show faith in her. She could finally become more than just the girl who gets nurtured, cared for. She could do the nurturing.

"Here," she said lightly with a small laugh. She gently lifted the child towards him and thought, for the briefest of moments, she may have seen hints of a blush on his own cheeks. He gracefully took Judith in his arms, once she was the one to start the transition. The dexterity with which he moved surprised her, but then she remembered their winter in the woods. It had always impressed her, how a solidly built man like him could move so silently catlike amongst the forest floor. She supposed this task wasn't very different from the likes of that.

She straightened her back and shook her arms free. "Thank you," she said, her eyes on Judith as she patted the sleeping child's head once more.

"Anytime."


	3. Native

**To the guest that reviewed the last chapter, thank you so much for your kind words! I love your theory! Check out my profile and find me on Tumblr if you'd like to discuss it further! :-)**

He knew. As soon as they got through the first wave of trees and he heard Merle muttering behind him, he just knew. He had made the wrong choice.

Daryl's thoughts were interrupted, as Merle got loud enough that he couldn't ignore him any longer. "Looks like you've gone native, little brother."

The words made him feel like he had a fist clenched around his stomach. He had his own issues on this topic; he didn't need Merle pushing him too.

"No better than you," he barked, getting in Merle's face. "Next to that asshole."

As Merle laughingly said something sarcastic about the Governor and walked past Daryl, he couldn't help but look back in the direction they had come from.

He had gone native; Daryl knew that. It had simply become an accepted fact that he supported Rick. He sure as hell was a better leader, a better man than Shane. Ever since that matter had been taken care of, Daryl just sort of fell into step with the Sheriff. Somewhere along the line, he had lost the concern of looking for his brother and instead focused on the needs of his new family.

Admitting that he considered Rick and the others his family still caused a clench of pain to come to him—and it wasn't from no fight from the Governor neither. Daryl wouldn't admit it easily, but he did still carry around a weight for Merle losing his hand. He should've been there, with him. He could've kept his brother straight, made him keep his mouth shut and his finger off the trigger. Or, at least, that's what he would tell himself, in the dark of night, curled in his cell and trying to sleep.

But could he have really done anything? There was no denying that Merle was a jackass. Daryl had just admitted as much to Glenn and the others. He had a mouth on him and no way to check his impulses before acting on them.

Daryl had been like that, at one time. Never as much as Merle, of course. But there was a reliance there, a strong bond that formed, based solely on similarities in temper. And Merle used that every chance he could, to try to harden Daryl. While his idea of tough love may have strengthened Daryl out and made it easier for him to survive this world, he wasn't so sure he was good with the actual _living_ part.

With a sigh, he turned around, leaving his family behind for the moment. Daryl set out to follow Merle's tracks to catch up to him, but became determined to do it on his own terms. Yes, Merle had taught him a lot, but he hadn't needed Merle to survive for quite some time now. He _had_ gone native. And, because of that, he refused to go down to Merle without a fight.

:::~:::

As was routine at this juncture, she, along with the others, met those returning from the run. She was relieved to see Rick, and immediately approached him, baby in hand, to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Along with her dedication to _living_, not surviving, came a desire to express appreciation at every possible turn. She knew that Rick did a lot for them; the very least she could do was show how incredibly grateful she was for his sacrifices.

She felt particularly indebted as her eyes found Maggie's. Without the Sheriff, her sister would've never been allowed to return to her. A chill ran through her, though, as she realized Daryl was missing from the party. Her eyes were drawn to Carol, who was near her, as she had approached from gate duty with Rick. Carol looked longingly towards the gate, almost as if she were waiting for Daryl to suddenly appear. Beth felt a wave of sympathy for her; she always knew they were good friends, but even she had to admit the longing in Carol's beautiful blue eyes surprised her.

As she turned to approach the prison, Judith still in hand, she overheard the declaration that Daryl had elected to attempt to make it on his own with his brother. Beth had heard many things about Merle Dixon, none of which seemed particularly positive. She was under the impression that Merle, in his one-handed state, was the one to capture and torture Maggie and Glenn. For that, she couldn't say she was particularly fond of the man, even if his brother was one of the best they had in their family.

Her last thought brought her to an abrupt halt, just as she was about to climb the stairs towards Judith's sleeping arrangements on the second floor. As she forced her feet to continue to move, she contemplated how her definition of family had changed so drastically from her time on the farm. At one time, she had a very exclusive definition. Her family was comprised of the people who lived with her and shared her beliefs, particularly on the Walker issue—her daddy, her sister, Patricia and Otis.

She wasn't even certain she ever truly considered Jimmy as part of her family. Certainly, they had taken him in and protected him; he had shared their opinion on Walkers. But, there was something about her relationship with Jimmy that never seemed to fully reach her.

At the time, she had been so worried for her mother and other neighbors and relatives living in the barn, which she had naively assumed were still waiting in vain for a cure. It had consumed many hours of her time, as she actively worried about them. Having a weight such as that was a plaguing damnation; it consumed her thoughts on end and left little room to fully let Jimmy in to her heart. She had cared for him, of course; but did he mean the same thing to her as Glenn and the others did now?

Now, she could see even further, and acknowledge that she had had it easy then. At the time, she had focused on the affects on her family unit, yet knew nothing of the severity of the situation—just how far epidemic had spread.

But, now, her family was no longer defined as only those who had once supported her in her faith, both in a religious sense and in the matter of the Walkers. In fact, her entire perception on Walkers and life had changed since then. She recalled eavesdropping on a conversation between her sister and her daddy, in which Maggie attempted to persuade her father to let the others stay. She had called the monsters _Walkers_, and her daddy had gasped, as if the word was sin itself.

It almost made her laugh to think on it now. It was just a casually accepted fact that the _Walkers_—and, yes, she did call them that. That was all she called them now—were not to be saved. Whoever they were in the past, they were no longer.

In a sense, she could appreciate that while Rick had actively sought to persuade her daddy to take them in, it had really been the other way around. Rick and the others had taken _them _in, showed them just how cruel the world could be. After the barn, she had crossed a point of no return. She had gone native, accepting all of their truths universally in a matter of moments, even if it had wrecked havoc on her mental state for a bit of time to do so.

But, Rick and company had also shown them how beautiful the world still had the potential to be. Even in the darkness, light can be found, in the form of family and friends. She nearly laughed at the latter; the word 'friends,' was no longer really a concept. You had those you trusted with your life and all others. And, if the Governor was to be any indicator, there should be a sense of wariness among the approach of others.

"You've got a knack for that." The words only mildly surprised Beth, as she leaned over to put Judith back in her makeshift crib.

"I do my part," Beth responded as she straightened up once more, eyes still on the crib. She ran her fingers over Daryl's scribbled 'Lil' Ass Kicker,' and couldn't help but feel her heart rise to her throat.

"Sophia would cry through the night. Ed would stay at a friend's till she'd calm down."

The words prompted a sadness in Beth. She knew very little of Carol's past, just that she had suffered through quite a bit of domestic violence and had come out the other end a survivor. She admired that about Carol—she could _survive_.

But, as Beth's eyes wandered down to Judith once more, she couldn't help but think she didn't want to just survive. She wanted to _live_. "I always wanted a child," she responded, pausing briefly to poke Judith affectionately in the belly. Beth moved to shift her eyes back to Carol and, in the process, they found the scribbled nickname yet again. "She wouldn't have made it if Daryl hadn't been here," the nickname compelled her to add. "He couldn't stand to lose anyone else."

"Sounds like him," Carol responded with a smile. But her eyes found the nickname as well and Beth saw a return of what she was truly feeling—anguish.

"I don't understand why he had to leave," she began, rushed with an infusion of anger that infected her and left her a bit blind. Daryl was family and she felt betrayed by his exit in favor of a man who had done nothing to support him, not in the way this new family did. "Merle sounds like a jerk."

"Don't let Merle get into your head," Carol responded, causing Beth's thoughts to come to a halt. She rather thought it wasn't Merle who had invaded her mind; it was Daryl. Merle had, on the other hand, obviously succeeded in overrunning Daryl's mind though, she was sure of it.

Old Beth—the one who stuck by those who were nothing but supportive, yet sheltered her and allowed her to become naïve—could appreciate his loyalty to his blood. But, that was no longer the case. They had built something here, in this prison. Something worth defending. She knew Daryl saw that too and, therefore, she could see no other alternative than he suffered from some lingering obligation from Merle that persuaded him to choose his blood over his bond.

This, in turn, plagued Beth. She knew there was some residual strain from an incident involving Merle's hand, but was that enough to persuade a stubborn man such as Daryl to switch loyalties? She rather thought not.

"He'll make you think you deserve the abuse."

Carol's words pulled Beth from her thoughts once more, as she took a moment to catch back up with the conversation. Superficially, Beth believed Carol meant Merle. But, on a deeper level, she meant all men who could be controlling and domineering, including her late husband.

She worried that that was precisely what Daryl had allowed Merle to do—to wriggle his way into his brain and manipulate his decision-making. But it just didn't fit with the persistent and abrasive man she knew him to be. "Even for Daryl?" she asked, hoping against hope that he would return to his usual self, return to them. Perhaps, if he managed to do that, if he managed to rectify his mistake, he could start to make his own path.

Carol paused for a moment and Beth settled for merely watching her. She was clearly thoughtful, but Beth suffered a difficult time reading her. The number of differences between the two of them just kept growing, from Beth's point of view. Carol checked a lot of emotions, with the only exception being in the presence of Daryl, but Beth wore everything on her sleeve.

"I'm hardly the same woman I was a year ago. I don't know. I like to think that if Ed were to walk through that door right now, breathing and alive, and ordered me to go with him, I'd tell him to go to hell."

"You would," Beth insisted immediately. Only after the fact did she realize how confessional Carol's words had been. She was strong, no doubt, but her mistakes plagued her, just as everyone else's did.

"It doesn't matter," Carol responded casually. Beth thought it rather did, since Carol had veered off course from the conversation to mention it. However, in her sympathy she sought to leave the topic alone, as that was clearly what Carol chose.

"We're weak without him," she bit out, not necessarily angry, but settled on the matter.

"We'll get through this too. Ty and his friends seem capable." Carol spoke the words, but it was clear she was striving to compromise on the issue.

"I'm pissed at him for leaving," she declared, unwilling to compromise on his betrayal. They had all come to redefine family. She had thought Daryl was included in that.

"Don't be. Daryl has his code," she paused and Beth noted that her voice cracked just the tiniest bit. "This world needs men like that," she finished as she finally met Beth's eyes one last time, before moving to part from her and the conversation.

A code he certainly had. Beth could see that clear as day. She had merely thought the defined proclamations involved in his code had matched those they surrounded themselves in—those who _lived_ with them, those who depended on each other to survive this cruel world.

Really, she thought, as she watched Carol carefully make her way down the steps, she was disappointed in him; she had thought he was capable of so much more than submitting to familial pressure. She had overcome her issues surrounding the Walkers; she had expected him and the others to follow suit. She had gone native. Hadn't the others?

Yes, she had expected better of him. And, despite Carol's apparent admiration of his code, Beth knew she had too.


	4. Choices

As soon as he heard the baby, he knew he had no choice. If he were honest with himself, he had been eager for the fight, even before hearing the cries. Anything to take his mind off the tense air surrounding him and Merle.

Daryl knew Merle was suspicious that he wanted to go back to the prison. But he had no time to think of that now. Merle catcalled, obviously enjoying the wreckage of the fight on the bridge up ahead. Daryl shook his head and started moving forward, knowing clearly what he had to do.

"What are you doing?!" His brother sounded absolutely disgusted in him. Daryl was beginning to believe that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

"There's a baby," he yelled as he took the bridge and began eliminating Walkers. His crossbow was his weapon of choice, until he ran out of bows and grumbled as a result. His knife was brought out to play then, as he continued to determinedly take out Walkers one at a time. He called for assistance from the family on the bridge, but he knew they were frazzled. Not to mention they barely spoke a lick of English. Finally, his brother appeared and shot a Walker that had nearly bitten him.

For the briefest of moments, Daryl thought Merle had actually come through. Of course, he had to go and ruin it by threatening the family in the car. As he opened the door and began sorting through their things, Daryl walked towards the vehicle, not entirely sure what to do. It wasn't right, what Merle was doing. You don't make demands after taking out a few Walkers.

When he saw how frantic the woman in the front with the baby had become, Daryl knew he had a choice to make. It was an easy one; a fact which surprised him, as even a year ago he would've hesitated and been prone to following Merle. And a year before that? The choice may have been as easy as it was to him now, but with a completely different end result.

Not this time, Daryl thought. His choice was clean and clear to him, and, as he stepped up to urge Merle to let them go, he knew beyond a shade of doubt or hesitation that he was making the right choice.

"The least they can do is give us an enchilada or something," Merle began, continuing to rifle through their things. "Easy does it, seniorita." Merle's attempt at a soothing tone grated on Daryl's nerves, because he knew his brother was just patronizing her.

He could see this wasn't going to go the easy way. Choosing to defend his stance on the issue, he raised his bow and pointed it directly at Merle.

"Get out of the car," he said, his voice particularly low and raspy.

Merle looked up for one tiny moment and appeared barely even bothered by the weapon aimed at him. "I know you're not talking to me, brother."

But Daryl could see right through that; the fact that Merle felt the need to say as much to begin with told him his brother knew what the true situation was here. On some fundamental level, Merle was seeing that his control over Daryl had slipped.

It was oddly exhilarating, Daryl realized as he turned to the husband, who was still lingering warily on the bridge. "Get in your car and get the hell out of here." When the man didn't move, Daryl urged further, "go! Get outta here!" Finally, Merle eased his way out of the car and allowed them to leave. Daryl lowered his bow and set off silently in the direction of the woods, barely even noticing the very sign that indicated he was right about the creek all along. He had bigger things to worry about.

:::~:::

When Merle finally caught up to him, Daryl knew there was going to be a fight. Daryl had made stands in the past, followed choices that Merle didn't agree with. But never quite like this. This was blatant defiance.

"That shit you pulled with pointing that thing at me?" Merle began, his feet loud on the forest floor. Yet another sign that he was beyond control—a Dixon was never loud unless he wanted to be.

"They were scared, man," Daryl responded, kicking at the ground. If Merle's being this loud, there's no reason to try to hide his anger from showing as well.

"They were rude, is what they were. Rude and they owed us a token of gratitude!"

"They didn't owe us nothin'," he said as he turned to face his brother, trying hard to be the rational one in this conversation.

"You helpin' people outta the kindness of your heart now? Even though you might die doing it," Merle paused and looked as if the very idea was almost laughable to him. "That something your Sheriff Rick taught you?

Daryl felt a white hot anger shoot towards his brain, almost as if the top of his head was on fire. "There was a baby!" he yelled.

"Oh, otherwise you would've just left 'em to the Biters, then?" Merle asked, his face anything but innocent.

It was clear to Daryl, the point his brother was trying to make. A little baby was worthy of him going out of his way to help it, but his own brother, his own flesh and blood, wasn't worth searching for more than once. The words hit him hard; he'd carried the guilt over Merle losing his hand since the day it happened. But, seeing him, standing here in front of him, hearing the ridiculous words spewing out of his mouth, that disappeared instantly.

"Man, I went back for ya. You weren't there!" He paused to pace a bit, his anger only building. "I didn't cut off your hand neither! You did that! Way before they locked you up on that roof. And you ask for it!" He was breathing heavily now. Those words had been plaguing him for years. And he had finally managed to say them. He almost cringed as he saw his brother's face tell him he was getting ready to go in for the kill. It was the same face he'd had when they hunted together.

"You know what's funny for me?" Merle paused to laugh bitterly. "You and Sheriff Rick are like this now. But I bet you a penny and a fiddle of gold you never told him we were planning on robbin' that camp blind, did you?"

Daryl had never forgotten that they had planned on robbing that camp. He thought of it every morning. He would imagine how his life could've been different, if Merle hadn't gone on the trip to Atlanta, if he'd instead stayed behind and they took advantage of the missing people to rob the camp blind.

If things had been different, if they had both made different choices, their world wouldn't be anything like what it is today. He'd still be stuck with a redneck brother, one who only made him into a matching redneck hick. There would be no community, no sense of family. They'd just wander around, pillaging things that weren't theirs to begin with.

Yes, he thought about it often—this alternative, this twisted alternative reality that could've been his home. It would be the stuff of nightmares, if they didn't already live in hell.

"It didn't happen," he muttered quietly, still facing his own shame on the situation.

"Yeah, it didn't, 'cause I wasn't there to help ya."

Daryl was almost grateful for this comment, as it allowed the anger to fuel his veins once again. "What, like when we were kids? Who left who then?"

They didn't often talk about their father. It was just one of those issues that was silently agreed to never be acknowledged. But that didn't mean Daryl didn't think about it. It was yet another thing that he had yet to make it through a day without thinking about.

"What?! Is that why I lost my hand?!" Merle's words further fueled his angry fire. His brother had made a choice—to leave them behind. Daryl knew why he had done it, but that didn't make the results any easier to bear.

"You lost your hand because you're a simple minded piece of shit!" he yelled, barely thinking anymore.

"You don't know nothing!" Merle's furious voice only made Daryl's blood boil. No, he thought, it was Merle who didn't know nothing. He had left, and Daryl had been made to suffer because of it.

Done with the conversation and Merle's ignorance, Daryl turned to leave. As soon as he turned, he felt Merle's hand on his back, gripping his shirt to drag him back into the conversation. Frantically he moved to regain his footing, but lost it and was forced forward from the momentum. His shirt ripped in the process and, as if by an old, bad habit, Daryl immediately and instinctively worked to patch the shirt back together to hide his back from the world.

He knew what was there. But Merle had not. That much was evident by Merle's stuttering reaction, as he mumbled "I—I—I didn't know he was—"

"Yeah, he did," Daryl answered immediately, not wanting to hear the words. "He did the same to you. That's why you left first." There was no question here. Daryl knew that was specifically what had driven Merle to leave him behind.

What confused Daryl was whether or not Merle had honestly thought Daryl would be safe under the same roof as the man who had tortured him for years before. If Merle was always moving to protect Daryl, as he always claimed to be doing, why would he choose to just carelessly leave him behind in that house, with that asshole?

"I had to, man," Merle began, his voice shaky. He was obviously affected by the scars. Daryl didn't want his pity and worked faster to fix the shirt. "I would'a killed him otherwise." Daryl stood at his words, almost wishing Merle had killed him. Sure, Merle would've been put away and he would've been without any parents. But things could've been different—he could've made his own choices, carved his own path. Maybe he'd be a different man today.

He thought of the prison, of Rick and the others. It had been a few years later than this alternative would've provided, but they had allowed him to make his own choices. Especially after Shane was taken care of. Since then, he had gone his own way. They allowed him that freedom. They not only allowed it, they respected him for it.

For the second time today, his choice was easy—clean and clear. Daryl began walking ahead, leaving Merle behind, prompting a rushed "where are you goin'?" from his brother.

"Back where I belong," he replied brashly, barely even turning to face Merle.

"I can't go with you!" his brother called, sounding really frantic now. "I tried to kill that black bitch. Damn near killed the Chinese kid."

Daryl cringed at his words; they reminded him of a time not so long ago when Glenn had to make that distinction for him. But, then, he realized, he had chosen to come a long way since then. He wasn't the one who should be cringing here. "He's Korean," Daryl answered bluntly.

"Whatever. Doesn't matter, man." Daryl nearly groaned. It mattered to _him_, he realized, as he waited for Merle to finish. "I just can't go with you."

Daryl immediately felt some guilt creeping into his stomach at the pathetic sound in Merle's voice. But he shut it down. He wasn't the one who had dropped the ball here, not this time. He had the power to choose his own path, and he was going to take it.

"You know," he started. "I may be the one walkin' away, but you're the one who's leaving. _Again_."

He said no more as he turned and started to make his way towards the prison. It wasn't for several miles that he finally noticed the sounds of his brother's feet behind him in the forest. It appeared he had made his choice as well.

:::~:::

Insanity had broken out all over the prison. The Governor was potentially on his way to their home right now. There was no sign of Daryl. Everyone was growing increasingly frantic; no choices were being made.

"What do we do now?" Beth asked, trying her best to define everyone's focus. "Won't the Governor retaliate?"

Finally, with her words a rational conversation commenced. A debate started—should they stand and defend their new home, or leave and attempt to evade the Governor altogether?

Beth pondered the decision, and immediately her mind went to her unpacked bag, her bed, her room. The choice was clear to her—they needed to defend this fortitude, but the thought of losing any more people made her throat clench.

She wanted desperately to make a stand, but with Daryl gone and Rick in distress over the still recent loss of Lori, Beth didn't know if they could honestly survive the prospect. Her feelings were so mixed on the issue, she decided it would be for the best if she merely observed the conversation, absorb any bit of information she could.

The dynamics of the group had always fascinated her. When they came to the farm, she could see that Rick was in charge and Shane was the second in command; with this, she could also see that Shane was disgruntled over the chain. Shane had always deeply bothered her; there was just something unsettling about him, a coldness in his eyes that seemed to imply he lacked for a soul, a conscious—something inherently human.

Needless to say, despite the fact that he may have come in handy with this Governor business, she would never lament that Rick had taken him out. It was, after all, a necessity—required for the survival of the group. Did the concept of murder still bother her? Of course it did. It seemed needless and impractical, particularly when there was already one foe to contend with. But, in the case of Shane, she understood it was what needed to be done.

Shortly before Shane was removed from the equation of the group, Beth had noticed a shift in power. When Randall needed to be removed, she had overheard a conversation between Rick, Daryl and Shane about who would do the drop. Rick was adamant on taking Daryl, a fact that had almost made Beth smile at the time.

She hadn't been surprised in the least. Despite the fact that Rick and Daryl had obviously known each other for a shorter period of time, it was clear that the two were growing to rely on each other quite readily. She quickly realized from Shane's reaction—anger and jealousy—that this was the first such occasion between the three men.

Shortly after that, Shane was eliminated. Beth remembered clearly a whispered conversation between Carol and Daryl shortly after the farm fell. Carol had asked if this felt right to him, to make camp overnight without much gas or means of escape.

The conversation caught her ear because Beth had her doubts too, lingering in the back of her mind. But, fundamentally, despite those doubts, she agreed with her father. Rick had taken in their group, made them aware of the true rulings of this new world. He had insured they had gotten off the farm and reunited.

But Daryl was a mystery to her. She knew from her avid people watching that he had become second in command. But his loyalties hadn't been truly tested. The whispered doubts screamed Carol's opinion to Beth, even if she did seek external validation for them. Daryl didn't disappoint as he definitively declared that they should follow Rick. She had almost smiled in that moment. Yes, she had thought, he was much better suited for the job than Shane.

And yet, here they were, without him. They were about to face a man that sounded more terrifying than even Shane had ever managed and Daryl was not here to help them. In his absence, Beth had grown slightly more understanding—Merle was his brother, there were few bonds closer than that.

But she was still plagued by her redefinition of family. If she had observed correctly, and she liked to think that she was quite perceptive and could manage to do so, Daryl had gone native, just as she had. Her dedication to this belief presented her with a choice. She could reassess her interpretation of an admittedly complicated man, or she could continue to hold on to hope—a faith that he would return, even if it took him some time.

:::~:::

She had made her choice. A stand was to be made; they had all agreed on it. However, she had made the choice a personal one, as she clutched at her gun. It was merely meant as a precaution, a means of defense for her and Little Ass Kicker.

But, regardless, the decision felt declarative. Killing Walkers had been an adjustment for her. She had been able to justify it—if she didn't kill them, they would kill her. And, the majority of the time, they barely even looked human any more.

The prospect of killing actual humans, on the other hand, had a further step in adjustment. She still wasn't certain she could do it, if the occasion called for it. But, when she thought about someone approaching her and Judith, she noted that she began to subconsciously reach for the gun.

Beth wasn't certain this was necessarily a good thing. Was killing someone who challenged your very right to live surviving? Certainly so. Was it a step towards truly living? That was the question. Would killing another human compromise her humanity?

That, above all else, was her goal. She wanted to be equipped to survive, of course. But she wanted to remain inherently human. It was the only thing standing between her and people like the Governor or Shane. It was what made her not a Walker. She would cling to her humanity, her propensity towards hope, health and happiness until her very last breath.

If the sounds from the exterior of the prison were any indication, it was a shorter battle than they had intended. It sounded as if it had only just started when she heard a loud vehicle approaching. Her ears perked; could it be Daryl, on his bike? It didn't sound quite right, but she knew she had to take a peak.

She held her breath when she saw the truck crash to a halt in the middle of the yard, the very place they called home on their first night at the prison. She knew this couldn't be Daryl, even as they all waited on baited breath to see what would happen.

And then the Walkers were released. More approached the fences past the yard. There was an infestation, caused undeniably by the sound of shots. Beth ground her teeth together in contempt for the Governor. Wasting ammunition on other humans was flat-out silly at this juncture; they needed all the supplies they could get. Couldn't he see that?

Beth had to squint to watch the Governor and his troops retreated. She had no doubt this would not be the last time they saw him. She saw her father ducked in the yard and became instantly worried for his safety, but was quite relieved to see that Michonne was nearby and steadily making her way in his direction.

With a sigh, she realized that, now, with the Governor gone, they could regroup and discuss what they wanted to do. They simply had to get in past the Walkers in the yard.

She approached the group at the gate to join them in awaiting the return of their family. Beth very nearly sputtered as she saw three men approaching from the furthest point in the yard. She checked the bow; yes, it was certainly Daryl Dixon.

Her sister, on the other hand, instantly started taking deep breaths from her position directly beside her. The other man was, of course, Merle Dixon. Beth had deduced as much, but Maggie's reaction did nothing but confirm the fact. Maggie weaved her fingers through the links in the fence and pushed loudly against the material.

"Maggie," she began warily. "The Walkers," she whispered as she saw several from the yard making their way towards them.

For a moment it appeared as if Maggie didn't care, as her grip tightened on the fence. Finally, after a long pause, she moved to grip the bucket and rebar they used to draw Walkers away from the fence.

Judith still in hand, she helped Glenn in pulling open the fence. Glenn was also obviously not pleased with Merle being here, as he rolled the fence with excessive force. Beth grimaced at the distaste evident on both of their faces.

On one hand, could she truly blame them? They had been exposed to extreme torture at the hands of Merle, and now he arrived, looking casually displeased with being there. On the other, she couldn't help but think on the fact that Daryl was back. Despite whatever baggage may come with him, they needed him here. She hadn't been lying to Carol when she had said they were weak without him. If that meant Merle came along as a package deal, some sacrifices would need to be made. In her opinion, it was the only mature solution.

It would appear neither Glenn nor Maggie were feeling very mature over the issue; she could tell instantly when she saw the two gather to watch as Rick, Daryl and Merle made their way through the fence. As Daryl passed her, Beth couldn't help but give a shy smile. She was glad to see he had not only returned, but returned safely.

The grumbling continued as they made their way towards the prison. Beth knew it was a matter of minutes before tensions flared.

:::~:::

An argument had erupted. He knew it would. Merle had never exactly been a peach and several people in this room could verify that fact based only on personal experiences.

He couldn't say he blamed them. Hell, even he felt better with his brother on the other side of the door. Daryl wouldn't deny that he didn't necessarily trust his big brother. He couldn't, not anymore.

But Merle wasn't their only issue. The Governor had attacked, just as Merle said he would. Daryl was concerned by how little damage the fight had brought them. From that alone he knew this was just a battle, not the end of a war.

"This is all you!" Maggie yelled, pulling his attention back to the conversation for a minute as she pointed accusingly towards Merle. She was blaming Merle for dropping this fight on them, which almost caused him to grind his own teeth. His brother was no angel, that's for sure. But he wasn't the fucking Governor. "If you hadn't started this—"

"What's it matter who's fault it is?" The farmer's other daughter interrupted her sister. "What are we gonna do?"

The words and her tone took him by surprise. But he wasn't sure why he was so shocked. She had been doing that a lot lately—speaking up a bit more, grabbing his attention with a strength he wouldn't have thought the mousy girl capable of.

On a base level, he appreciated her finally taking the attention off of his brother. There was no denying that Merle was not a good man. But he wasn't the one who crashed their gates and drove a truckload of Walkers into their yard. That blame fell entirely on the asshole head of the Governor. Beyond that, he respected how urgent she sounded. They needed to get this situation figured out before he crashed their gates looking for another party.

The argument continued, as they attempted to decide between fighting and fleeing. Some remained hopeful that he might not come back, but Merle chased that idea away immediately, with his statement that things were only getting started.

:::~:::

The silence of his cell was soothing, after the argument that had taken forever to end. Carol had stopped by briefly to assure him it was good to have him back. He'd felt conflicted by it, really. He had obviously missed the prison, or he wouldn't have insisted they come back here. Carol had called it their home; and it had been, at one time. But, now, with the asshole Governor knocking on their door and looking for a fight, he wasn't sure he could see it that way anymore.

Carol also told him that he shouldn't let Merle drag him down. She said he had changed—and for the better. He wasn't so sure she wasn't deluding herself. He had more of his brother in him than anyone here could probably see.

He suddenly noticed Beth pacing in front of the first floor of cells, Little Ass Kicker in hand as she tried to feed the stubborn kid. After a minute more of bouncing and pacing, the kid finally took the bottle and was silent. With a sigh of relief, she stopped pacing and looked up to take in her surroundings. When she realized she had stopped right in front of his cell, a smile came to her face.

Beth's smiling always threw him off. He couldn't understand it—was there anything left in this world to smile about? Even if there was, he thought there definitely wasn't enough left to smile as much as she did.

She approached the cell and Daryl immediately resumed his hold on an arrow he had been playing with earlier. He kept a steady gaze on the arrow in the hopes that it would discourage her from entering his cell.

It didn't work. When he looked up again, she was sitting in the very chair Carol had held earlier.

"Good to see you back," she said casually with another smile as she held his eyes. She briefly looked away to check to make sure Little Ass Kicker was still eating like she was supposed to. The reminder that there was a baby in the room helped Daryl keep his eyes off of Greene; he trained them, instead, on Judith and held them there, as if she was the most fascinating thing in the world to him. On some days, that was actually true.

He settled for merely nodding in reply. Daryl had expected Carol to come see him, but the littlest Greene had not been on his list.

"I'm glad you brought Merle with you," she said softly, with a blatant kindness to her voice. But her words felt wrong—his brother had tortured her sister. It made him look up and meet her eyes again, even though he hated doing that. There was an innocence there that bothered him beyond his control.

"Why?" he spat out, his curiosity getting the best of him.

She paused briefly before she started speaking, looking down once more to check on Little Ass Kicker. Her eyes met his, just before she opened her mouth to speak. "Because, he needs our help. Rick and the others, they helped release you from your obligation, your guilt towards your brother. And now you're free of him—you make your own choices and you stand by them," her smile brightened, almost as if she were proud of him.

"If Rick can help Merle do the same thing, free him from whatever it is that plagues him, whatever it is that troubles him and manipulates his actions…" she trailed off, as she looked away from him for a moment. He noticed her cheeks were turning red as she avoided his eyes for a few more seconds; it made him feel like he should be making more of an effort to avoid her gaze, but he couldn't look away.

What she was saying almost made him laugh—he knew exactly what it was that kept Merle on a leash, and he wasn't likely to let that go any time soon. On the other hand, what she was saying intrigued him. Rick had let him off Merle's leash. Maybe Merle would improve too, once he saw what they had to offer.

Her eyes finally met his before she spoke her final words. "I think that could be a beautiful thing."

Daryl breathed a deep sigh. Beth was too young, too naïve, too innocent. She seriously thought there was still hope for Merle. Daryl wished he could believe something like that to be possible, but he didn't have that in him anymore. It had been forcefully removed, straight from his back.

"I made my own choices for a long time, girl," he bit, falling to his default angry tone in the hopes that it would end this conversation. She was making him uncomfortable. "It weren't losin' Merle that got me there."

Beth just continued to smile, which only threw him off more. She was supposed to be intimidated. Clearly, it wasn't working.

"Obviously," she acknowledged with a nod. Beth stood from the chair, a knowing look still on her face that threw him off more than he cared to admit. Before he knew what was happening, she had leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. He avoided her eyes like they were poison after that, but he did catch a glance at her face out of the corner of his eye before she left. Her cheeks now glowed red as she smiled sweetly and turned to finally leave him in peace.


	5. Walls

**I just want to take a moment to thank those of you who have taken not only the time to read my story, but to follow it and even, on occasion, review it. The encouragement is certainly appreciated. You all are awesome :-)**

**Forewarning—from here on out, the chapters are only going to get steadily longer. Hope that's okay :-)**

"Daryl's become a rockstar," Carol said with a laugh and a smile as she ran a hand over his arm.

"Nah," Daryl diffused with an uncomfortable shuffling of his hair that caused Beth to smile in spite of herself. He always was humble, even when he had earned the right to be otherwise.

"You are!" Maggie insisted with a laugh. "Even the Woodbury people love you."

"Not much of'a compliment," he grumbled as he lifted his drink from the table, removing Carol's lingering hand from his arm in the process. "Who wouldn't'a won 'gainst the Governor in a popularity contest?"

Beth couldn't help but smile once more, although she remained silent, even as the others erupted in laughter. She always enjoyed these group meals; they presented an opportunity for her to observe her family and just enjoy their company. It was one of the highlights of her day, in addition to taking care of Judith, of course.

"That is true," Rick said quietly as he leaned back in his chair and pushed his plate away from him.

"Any idea why Michonne keeps goin' out? Lookin' for him?"

"She wants him dead," Rick replied with a shake of his head. "I understand it, but there isn't much we can do about it right now."

"I ain't a big fan of it," Daryl responded. "Her goin' out on her own, lookin' for that asshole. Spells trouble ta me."

"She's a fighter, I'm sure she'll survive," Carol stated, her smile dropping from her face.

"Just worried 'bout her, that's all," Daryl added as he sat forward and looked to Rick for some suggestion on the matter.

Beth found the relationship between Rick and Daryl fascinating. They relied on each other so heavily, even more so now than they used to. Ever since the Governor had stormed into their lives, with his potent propensity towards dictatorship, Rick had felt the need to take a step back from the role of leader.

While she knew that the Governor had been a contributing factor towards the decision, she could appreciate that he was the final page, not the entire story. It was no secret to their group that Rick had suffered deeply from the loss of Lori. But, in Beth's opinion, he had recuperated very nicely. There were no concerns on her end, and certainly none from Daryl either, she noted as he continually leaned on Rick more and more to engage in executive decisions.

Beth suspected he didn't necessarily like being pitted in the role of a leader. With the loss of his brother, Daryl was simultaneously presented with an opportunity to completely remove any inhibitors of his previous life.

Whatever details that life had included, she hadn't really the slightest idea. She knew it had involved intensive and extended exposure to Merle. But, beyond that, she really didn't know. It bothered her a bit—his past felt like one of the few remaining missing pieces she had to the puzzle that was Daryl Dixon. She didn't boast to know him well; but she did like to think she was fairly adept at reading others, Dixon included.

That being said, she knew Merle's passing away didn't magically evaporate all of his past. Beth suspected he wasn't necessarily fully comfortable being seen as a leader, making important decisions. He seemed particularly grateful for the council, so as to not make him solely responsible for the decisions being made for the sake of the community. It was his comfort; she could see that plan as day.

When Rick failed to respond to Daryl's comment on Michonne, they all slipped into their own conversations. Beth continued to merely observe those around her, as she watched Maggie and Glenn to her immediate right discuss something in hushed tones.

"We'll need to go on a run soon," Carol, who sat just a few chairs to Beth's left, said suddenly, breaking the silence that had previously occupied that side of her.

"I can go tomorrow," Daryl said after finishing another drink. "What'ya need?"

"Food mostly," Carol said as she allowed her eyes to scan Daryl's face. Daryl, Beth observed, stared resolutely at his admittedly pathetic servings. He always took less than he really should, she had noticed. But, then again, that was just sort of a given in the end of the world scenario they now faced.

"Huntin's easy. I can make a run for some meat tomorrow."

"_That's _what makes you so popular," Carol responded, as she looked down briefly, only to look back up to his face. Beth attempted to be subtle in her observations, as she watched Carol once again raise her hand to Daryl's arm.

"It ain't nothin'," he responded casually, his eyes still on his food, as he seemed to debate what exactly he wanted to eat next. He seemed utterly ignorant of Carol's contact with his arm.

"Yes it is," Carol said assuredly. Beth noted her grip on his arm tightened. Immediately, Daryl's eyes came up from his food and focused briefly on the hand, as if it was some foreign and contaminating object that he only just noticed was inhibiting on his existence. His expression would've almost made her laugh at his ignorance, if she wasn't so fascinated by the interaction. "Just remember," Carol started with a carefree laugh. She, unlike Beth, had obviously missed the closing off exhibited by Daryl in the last fifteen seconds. "I was here first."

The words almost made Beth gasp as she turned to adamantly focus on her food. She had always sensed a closeness between the two, but there had never been much to suggest romantic inclinations. Was it possible that these two could become romantic? Or that they could already have _been _romantic?

A distinct blush overcame her cheeks at the thought of a romantic relationship developing between these two. Beth was assured this was not the result of envy, but from her own lack of experience in the area of romance. It was the end of the world—conventions and social expectations had all but become extinct. As far as she was concerned, if you managed to find someone who could make you remotely content in this twisted world, it was worth the leap of faith that was involved in the instigation of any relationship.

However, while she did not envy or begrudge the pair their chance for happiness, she would admit that her curiosity could not be denied.

Beth pursued delicacy once more, as she roamed her eyes slowly to the pair sitting just a chair or two away from her. Daryl parted one last glare in the direction of Carol's outstretched hand, the likes of which still rested contentedly on his forearm, before his expression managed to display a strong recoiling, so downplayed that she suspected Carol failed to notice it.

Daryl laughed, but there was very little humor in the move, as he stood and reached for his plate, dropping Carol's hand off his arm smoothly in the transition from sitting to standing.

As he passed her on his way to clean his plate, Beth couldn't help but think she had come to a realization. Whatever may or may not have happened between the pair in the past, it was obvious to Beth that any romantic feelings involved here were certainly one sided. And it wasn't Daryl's side that had the issue to contend with. Equally evident was the fact that Carol seemed oblivious to the fact that she was fighting a losing battle.

Daryl, in his motions to withdraw Carol's hand from his arm, showed Beth that he had developed even higher walls than she had previously thought he had held. She couldn't blame him really. If finding someone one truly connected with in this world was difficult, trusting most others was near impossible. Opening up your heart and allowing for the freedom to make connections could bring a lot of pain upon a person, a lot of loss.

She understood it, she really did. Ever since she lost Jimmy, her walls around her own heart had been growing progressively taller and more fortified. She didn't really mean for it to be that way; she reckoned it was merely a natural byproduct of living in this world. You sheltered yourself in anticipation for the rain of pain, loss and suffering.

It wasn't right, she thought. It betrayed her philosophy of living, not surviving. Perhaps, she thought, she simply hadn't found the right person—someone she felt comfortable enough with, someone she could trust would make it in this world. Maybe, just maybe, if she could find someone like that in this world, then she could begin to knock down some of those walls.

But, until then, she rationalized it as safer this way. She had become involved with one of the Woodbury people—Zack. She was interested in him, obviously, or she wouldn't be with him to begin with. But she had yet to get a feel for him as a person; at the very least, she did not know him nearly well enough to trust him with taking a pick axe to destroy those walls around her heart, the likes of which she had so avidly constructed in the last few years.

:::~:::

Beth took a few deep breaths as she made her way towards Carl, who was on gate duty. Zack had asked her to meet him beyond the walls of the prison, down by the lake. It wasn't necessarily her favorite idea; they had fought so hard to preserve the walls of this place that it felt almost traitorous to purposely step beyond them out of anything other than necessity.

"Carl," she began as she approached the boy.

"No need," he said as he held his hand up. Beth smiled at the adult quality he worked to infuse in his voice. "Zack warned me you'd be coming."

She nodded silently in appreciation as she took a few hesitant steps through the gates. Beth immediately saw him to her right, sitting on the bridge that hovered above the little naturally occurring lake that served as their water supply. After a few more precautionary glances to take in her surroundings, she made her way towards the bridge, hands hovering over her knife for the entirety of her journey.

"You made it," Zack said as soon as he heard her feet fall on the wooden surface of the bridge. She didn't respond as she simply nodded and smiled, casting yet another cautious glance around before taking her seat. "I packed this for us," he said as he pointed toward the picnic basket that currently sat between them.

Beth felt a genuine smile overtake her expression. This had been what she had dreamt of when they found the prison—a return to normality. A place where they could celebrate holidays, birthdays and picnics, and die of nothing but old age. Could it be possible Zack could provide this for her?

"It feels good to be beyond the walls," Zack said as he took a deep breath, as if it were the first time he had truly been able to breathe in weeks.

"Does it?" she asked, crinkling her nose a bit in response. She took another bite from her sandwich in an attempt to cover up her unwilling response to his statement. They had fought so hard to protect and preserve those walls from the greedy hands of the Governor, that she couldn't help but feel a sense of dejection at his comments. These walls were their safety, their livelihood. Without this prison, they would've been dead a long time ago. The winter on the road had been enough to prove that to her definitively.

"Doesn't it?" he asked, drawing in her attention once more as he looked back up towards their home.

"Don't you go out to the yard?" Beth responded as she nodded towards the patch of grass on the other side of the fences.

"All the time," Zack answered, a smile on his face. "It's just not the same, somehow."

"Well, I guess, it is still a prison, isn't it?" She responded with a smile.

"Exactly. Not that I'm not grateful to have a roof over my head, four walls around me."

"It makes me nervous, really," she admitted, as she lowered her eyes to the picnic basket. "Being out here, exposed."

"I'm here. And we've got Carl on gate duty. I hear he's a good shot."

She couldn't help but smile. It was always interesting to hear the interpretations of her family from Woodbury people. "I can verify that he certainly is. He never misses."

"Surprises me for a kid his age," Zack responded casually, his eyes focused on his sandwich.

"His daddy's a sheriff," she said with a laugh.

"Well, _was_ a sheriff," Zack clarified and Beth wasn't necessarily sure how to interpret his statement. Was he saying that Rick was no longer a sheriff because he wasn't calling the shots for those residing at the prison? Or was he simply saying that that was part of a life that was no longer theirs to claim as their own?

"_Was_, although most of us will always consider him our Sheriff," she said with a smile, trying her best to not over think his words in an attempt to perceive all that he had to offer her. It was a nonsensical habit of hers that she found very difficult to drop, even though she knew she should.

"He kept you guys safe, right? After your farm got overrun?"

"Yeah," she said with a small sigh and a shy smile. The topic was still so sensitive for her. Beth knew he had no malicious intention—he was always trying to get her to open up a bit, but she with equal frequency struggled to provide him with the insights into herself that she knew he desperately wished to obtain.

"He helped us make the best of a horrific situation. That was the worst winter, by far," she added as she bit her lip and did her best to breathe through the apprehension that naturally overtook her at the mention of the loss of the farm.

"Not the year of the Governor?" he asked with a smile as she nibbled on her sandwich, more as a distraction than out of actual hunger. She found that the less she consumed the less hunger actually came to her.

"That was horrible too, just in a completely different way. There was uncertainty, of course. He could've marched in here and taken everything in a matter of minutes. Numbers certainly weren't on our side. We were crafty, but we were by no means prepared for him. It was frantic, but we still had the roof and the walls. Stability is crucial," she declared definitively.

"And your winter on the run?"

"Stability? What stability?" she asked rhetorically with a small smile as she picked at the vegetables he had included in the lunch. "But, it did teach me a lot. I really hadn't killed many Walkers up until that point."

"You? The queen of fence duty?" he asked as he feigned nearly dropping the remainder of his sandwich.

She smiled at his generosity. "That's kind of you—to think I'm worthy of that title. But I feel certain that definitely isn't the case."

"I don't know," he said skeptically. "I've watched you hit the fence. You're pretty good."

"You obviously haven't seen Michonne in a fight."

"I haven't, thank god," he said as a shiver went through him. "She's intimidating."

Beth couldn't help but smile. There had been a time when she had felt similarly towards Michonne—perhaps the first week or two of their acquaintance. But Zack's discomfort had obviously stuck around far longer than Beth's had. Her smile only broadened as he afforded her another Woodbury observation.

Maybe she could do it, she thought. Maybe she could let a few cracks settle into her protective walls to allow him to slip through. It was alarming, naturally—downright terrifying, if she were to be honest with herself. But what was the point in living if there was no hope? She could have faith that he would survive, persevere in a way that allowed them to go on living together…right?

Just as she had resolved herself to making a concentrated effort forward on knocking down her own walls, movement caught the corner of her eye.

"Biters," Zack said, very nearly reading her mind, albeit tinged with the Governor's lingo. They were on the move, emerging from the woods and headed straight towards them.

"We need to go," she stated as she tossed their remaining items in the basket. Beth scooped up the basket and headed towards the fence, relieved to see Carl at the ready with his gun. Regardless, her hand lingered over her knife, just to be safe.

With a deep sigh, she stumbled across the fence line and heard Carl slam it close behind them. She looked towards the prison once more, for a change with no smile upon her expression. As she walked through the second set of fences, she paused to run her hand over the cool aluminum, weaving her fingers through the holes in the process. She let the stability take her over, allowing the fence to serve as her support as she temporarily worked to catch her breath.

Walls are good, she decided.

:::~:::

"Hey," Zack said by way of greeting. His voice pulled her from being lost in her thoughts once more and drew her focus to a group ahead. "I was just gonna come find you." Uncertainty overtook her face as she contemplated what he could have to tell her.

She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek with a smile. "What's up?" she asked.

"Well," he started with a sigh. "The Council pulled everyone on the coal crew back from going on the run. They're shorthanded right now." This news did not surprise her. Their fences were under attack from more Walkers with every passing hour. They needed all the support they could get, but she also knew food supplies were running low. "I figured I'd step up to help," Zack started once more. "Go with 'em."

Beth felt a small smile overtake her lips as she nodded her understanding. She knew, despite the amount of Woodbury people they had living with them now, numbers were still always tight; she understood with perfect clarity why he had volunteered to go.

"Just wanted to make sure that I saw you before…" Zack trailed off, as if he were waiting for her to fill in some form of a blank at the close of that sentence. She felt her forehead briefly scrunch slightly in confusion, before realizing what he was trying to say without actually allowing the words to escape his mouth.

Beth smiled and shook her head as she sought to reassure him that she was not worried for his safety. Daryl was going with him, along with several other very skilled fighters; he would be surrounded in good people who she knew would try their very best to insure everyone made it back from the run. She may have strong walls, but that didn't mean her faith in her family and her hope in humanity had evaporated.

Despite her small gestures to reassure him, Beth noted Zack still looked as if he were waiting for something else from her. Unsure what to say, she settled with awkwardly mumbling "okay," to confirm that she could acknowledge his worries, but hopefully articulating that she was not concerned.

"I just—'cause, ya know—" Zack started once more, very choppy as he alternated looking from her face to her feet. "It's dangerous going out there."

She knew that Zack intended for these words to be moderately frightening, but the sheer declaration of a fact so glaringly obvious had her scoffing slightly with a shake of her head. "I know," she said as she leaned in once more to kiss him on his cheek, in the hopes of showing him she meant no malicious intent.

With this, she started to walk away, fully aware that he was still looking for some form of closure. She knew what he wanted, but she just couldn't bring herself to say goodbye. She had said it far more times in the last few years than she would like to count. And it never did much good; goodbyes couldn't bring the loved one back, couldn't mend previous ails of the past, couldn't make up for lost regrets. It was a word she was growing to dislike intensely.

Besides, she thought, as she continued to walk away, she still had her faith that every individual in the group going out on the run would do their very best to insure the return of the entire group. She could ask for nothing more than that. If that prevailed to not be the case, she would deal with that when and if it happened.

"Okay, you gonna say goodbye?" She heard him call from back by the car. She could hear the smile in his voice; the tone made releasing a smirk of her own in response unavoidable.

"Nope!" She called as she carried on, not even turning around to speak the final word on the matter.

"It's like a damn romance novel." Daryl's words, unlike Zack's, did very nearly cause her to stop in her tracks. She heard the slight laughter of both gentlemen and knew their attention was no longer focused on her. Regardless, she forced her feet to keep moving as she rounded another corner of the prison.

_Was_ it like a romance novel? She recalled reading very few novels that could be classified in that genre—prompting her to wonder just where Daryl kept his hidden romance novel collection, with a small accompanying giggle—but of the few she had managed to read, she didn't truly think her relationship with Zack could be classified as such.

From what she knew of the concept, romance novel love was always windswept and fast-paced—impractical and held the appeal of the vaguely dangerous. She didn't really consider it love, to be honest. It was more an inclination towards something one isn't allowed to have. Forbidden, some would say.

That was not the case between her and Zack. Sure, she supposed she could've interpreted the relations between her prison family and the newer addition of the members of Woodbury as tempestuous at one time, but nothing that created the level of turmoil required to promote their relationship to forbidden status.

But perhaps Daryl had merely meant to say that they were romantic—eager for physical contact and public displays and declarations of affection. Again, she would argue that was certainly not the case on her end. Perhaps it was her inexperience speaking, but she was still wary of too intensive displays of affection in public. Hand holding? That was fine. The occasional kiss on the cheek? Perfect. But, beyond that, she was wary to proceed any further in public. That had been the case with both Zack and Jimmy.

She could acknowledge, however, that Zack's behavior was certainly more inclined towards the romantic. He had been the driving force behind their previous conversation, finding subtle and not so subtle means to persuade her to give him some form of romantic closure.

She had smiled because it was sweet of him. But, in either her relationship with Jimmy or Zack, she had never been one to seek external validation of her feelings, or of those felt by her significant other. She knew he cared for her, and that was enough.

It was enough, she thought, but was it really? She felt her expression drop slightly into a frown as she recalled her brief contemplation from several days ago, where she had considered pursing deconstructing the protective walls around her heart.

Beth had decided that waiting for further reassurance—a sign, if you will—that she was comfortable enough with Zack to allow for that to happen was the best course of action. He had continued to push, of course; that seemed to be the nature of boys in general. But it hadn't yet crossed the line into disrespectful, so she merely kept him at bay until she could make her decision.

But part of her wondered if her decision had already been made. Shouldn't she have known straight away if she was capable of being comfortable and content with him? Isn't that something that the very romance novels Daryl had referenced preached?

She had her hope, though, she reminded herself. If it was meant to be with Zack, she would discover that very fact. She just needed to give the situation a bit more time, her mind a bit more room to think.

:::~:::

"I should be the one ta tell her," he finally answered, as he crossed his arms tighter across his chest. Michonne and Glenn finally looked up from where they had set their eyes to the floor.

"You?" Glenn asked, the surprise written all over his face.

"I can be nice," Daryl answered harshly, scrunching his nose as he realized he hadn't exactly sounded nice there.

Michonne glared at him in response. Apparently he had proven Glenn's point all on his own.

"I can," he reassured, as he loosened his arms and stood up from his resting spot leaning against a door jam in their dining area.

"You?" Glenn repeated, causing a scowl to come to his face. Daryl made an effort to smooth out the lines there.

"I knew Zack pretty well, and all. Trained him myself. She knew that. She'll know I'd've tried everything ta get him back here. It should come from me." His tone left little to debate. Regardless, Michonne and Glenn apparently still felt the need to question it, as they each shared a glance before silently agreeing with him that it was how it should be.

However, as he started to approach her cell, his confidence was suddenly blown. Delivering this information would be anything but fun. But it wasn't like he was new at this, and neither was she—loss was just a fact of life for them by this point.

When he reached her cell, he leaned against her door to gather some last minute concentration. He looked in and saw her lying on her bed, journal in her hand. His first reaction was to roll his eyes at the ridiculousness of continuing to keep track of the days when they obviously sucked as bad as they did here. But, then, he remembered the news he had come to deliver and any possibility for snarky remarks went out the window.

Beth's eyes suddenly came up to meet his, as if she had only just noticed he was there. "Hey," she said quietly, no usual smile on her face. He knew then that she suspected.

"Hi," he said quietly, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable with being here.

"What is it?" she asked, not snootiness in her tone, just a curiosity and a determination, as if she knew what was coming.

"Zack," Daryl began, but shortly realized he didn't know what else to say after that.

"Is he dead?" Daryl was almost relieved as the words came out of her mouth, saving him from doing so. He looked at her for a moment and noticed the lack of reaction on her face, before his embarrassment for relying on a teenager to deliver her own worst news overcame him and forced him to look towards the floor.

Now he really had no idea what to say.

"Okay," Beth began, drawing his eyes to her again as she sat up suddenly. Daryl noticed how straight she sat; it looked very uncomfortable and unnatural. He watched as she stood up and approached her sign that kept count of how many days they had gone without a death. Without shedding one tear, she removed the three and brought the total back to zero.

Something about the scene felt wrong to him. Was this the same little girl who had cried after her momma got shot from the barn? The same girl who was laid up in bed for weeks longer? The same girl who tried to kill herself all over a step-mom who had long since been dead? He didn't know her well, but he had always imagined her to be sweet and naïve, to the point where it was dangerous.

The surprise at her reaction must've shown on his face. When she turned to him, she saw right through him and her expression only tightened further. "What?" she asked. Her tone wasn't rude, but it was definitely a bit more closed off than he had always imagined her voice to sound.

Maybe she had changed, he thought. In a world like this one, if you don't close up, wall in your heart, you'll be living in a constant world of pain. Maybe she had figured that out.

"I don't cry anymore, Daryl," she started as she took a few step towards him. "I'm just…" she trailed off and, though she definitely wasn't crying, she was obviously finally affected by the news. It showed him that, despite the fact that she was obviously much more resilient than he—or Glenn or Michonne, for that matter—had given her credit for, she still had qualities of old Beth in there. Her walls had cracks, and she'd let you see them if she wanted ya too. "I'm just glad I got to know him, you know?"

He nodded, because that was something he could definitely relate to. In this world, every person you met had a ticking clock. But that didn't mean they weren't important—that they weren't worth your time. Rick had taught him that, he realized; it sure as hell wasn't Merle.

"Me too," he said.

She once again looked up and met his eyes, causing that creeping uncomfortable feeling to crawl up his spine again. Beth looked him straight in the eyes for a few seconds before she spoke again. "Are you okay?"

Her question surprised him; she was the one who had just lost her boyfriend. Shouldn't he be asking her that? Regardless, he figured he owed her an answer. "Just tired of losin' people, that's all."

She nodded, seemingly understanding his statement very well. Not much of a surprise there, he thought. Everyone alive today could understand that concept.

Beth made a sudden movement that had his arms clenching in preparation for an attack. He knew she posed no threat, but it was an involuntary reaction brought on by the approach of any outside force. She approached him quickly, sliding her arms around his torso and tucking her head directly under his chin.

At first, he had no idea what to do. Physical contact wasn't something he received very often—it wasn't something he necessarily needed or wanted. But, he understood what she was doing; they had both just lost a mutual friend. They were two of Zack's best-known comrades. They were both hurting at the thought losing him, no matter what she had said about not crying, and no matter how he downplayed the situation by laying out some generic phrasing that he was tired of losing _people_, instead of a specific person.

They had found common ground here, in her cell. Because of that, he felt compelled to return her gesture of comfort, even if doing so only furthered his level of _dis_comfort. He reached out to grip her elbow, hoping that that action alone was enough to send his message.

The contact was brief, something he was grateful for. Beth pulled back and looked him in the eyes once more. He found it suddenly and confusingly easier to hold a steady stare with her now. She readjusted the position of her sweater on her shoulder; the movement normally would've naturally moved his eyes in that direction, but even then he couldn't quite look away.

"I'm glad I didn't say goodbye," she started and, despite his disbelief in her honesty, she didn't waver. "I hate goodbyes."

Daryl paused before responding, looking for any hint that she was lying. When he found none, he, too, allowed himself to be honest. "Me too."

With one final nod, he left her in peace and made his way towards the stairs to find his way to his own cell, knowing his thoughts would be full of Zack and Beth and sleep would not come easily to him.

:::~:::

Daryl paced the perimeter, unable to handle sitting in the prison any longer. It was early; he wasn't even sure anyone else was up yet, except those on guard in the towers. Every once in a while, he just had to get out, no matter what the time of day was. Living in a cell was never his idea of a good time.

But he was grateful. They had the protective walls. The place was a fortress. For that very reason alone he'd never complain. The threat of the Governor had seen to making sure he kept his mouth shut on anything related to that.

As he entered the area that bridged between the two fences, he saw through the dim light brought on by the rising sun; he noticed quickly that Beth was standing a little ways ahead. Her blonde hair was so damn bright he felt sure he'd see her even on a night with no moon in the sky.

He started to approach her to get a better glimpse of what she was doing out here this early. Within just a few feet, he easily noticed the slab of rebar in her hand as she saw to the growing amount of Walkers on the opposite side of the fence. There weren't so many that he worried for her safety, but it still didn't feel right to leave her out here on her own. With a sigh he resorted himself to walking over to her.

"Morning," Beth said without even sliding her eyes off of the Walkers. He couldn't deny that he was a bit impressed that the littlest Greene had managed to notice him coming.

"Mornin'," he responded, choosing not to show her his reaction to her ability to see him coming with so little effort.

"I just…" she trailed off as she pulled back to run a blood smattered hand across her forehead, smearing a trail of Walker blood all over her ridiculously pale skin. "I couldn't sleep anymore, you know?" she asked as she finally looked up and met his eyes.

He nodded, because he really did know. But he didn't move to specify just how much he understood.

It had been a few days since they had lost Zack. He had yet to see Beth cry over it, but he could feel that she was dealing with it. It surprised him how she was handling the situation—caring enough to feel the pain, yet mature enough to avoid drowning in it.

If he were honest with himself, he'd admit that he wouldn't have handled news like this nearly this well at her age. And he certainly didn't think a lot of the teenagers here could manage to react this maturely. Hell, he'd reckon even a large portion of the adults wouldn't be like this. She was more of an adult than him, really, when it came down to it.

It was curious, really, that she managed not to cry in front of the others or really show too much damage over the issue. Daryl knew from their original conversation on the subject that she had obviously set to building some stable walls around herself, closing off some of her emotions. But, as he stood here, watching her return to killing Walkers on the fence—a duty she hadn't been assigned for nearly a week—he suspected he had all the information he needed to confirm that she did have the ability to put cracks in those walls.

What remained confusing was who she showed these cracks too. Had she shown Zack? Daryl had never really thought about their relationship much. He had trained the guy to survive this world and occasionally rolled his eyes when Zack would say something really cheesy in Beth's direction. That was the extent of it. But did he see her ever really return that gushiness?

"Wouldn't kill ya to help, ya know." Her words drew his immediate attention. He hadn't really realized he was just standing there staring at her, while she did all the heavy labor of eliminating Walkers from the line.

Daryl looked at her expression and saw the tiniest hint of a smile there. He figured she was probably giving him a hard time just to lighten things up a bit. With that in mind, he released an equally faked grunt of complaint as he picked up a nearby pipe to join right by her side on the fence.

As the sun came up further over the prison, only more Walkers were pulled in towards the fence. It made Daryl apprehensive; there may not be nearly enough to wipe out the fence yet, but it was definitely something to be discussed.

"Need ta work on strengthenin' these walls," he said as he gave them a precautionary pat and a tug to test their stability. They were far weaker than he'd like them to be.

She paused after killing another Walker with a rebar to the head and looked over to where he was testing things.

"Do you think they won't stand?"

"I think if someone or somethin' pushes on it hard enough it'll come tumblin' down."

"Walkers?" she asked, but he thought she might know who he was really talking about. After all, they never had found the Governor. Most days he didn't worry himself over it, because what was the point, really? If he was gonna come, he would get there. There was no use in constantly worrying over it.

But in that moment, he knew he and Michonne weren't alone in their thoughts that the Governor's body had never been found. Beth shared the very same worries.

"Ya," he mumbled. "Or somethin' else. Never know, ya know?" He retracted his hand as a Walker jumped to try to reach far enough to bite his finger off. It received a pipe to the head as a consolation prize.

"We can build up the walls," she said as she too returned to killing Walkers. "This is our home. It's gotta be fortified. It deserves nothin' but the best treatment and protection."

He shook his head a bit at how she could talk about the prison as if it were something tangible—something she could put in her pocket and keep as her own. She may have an emotional maturity that could surpass even the best of them, but she still had a bit of that old innocence in her. Daryl wasn't sure if it annoyed him or made him envious.

He couldn't remember when he'd been as innocent as the littlest Greene. He wasn't even sure he'd ever been that innocent. It irritated him—innocence like that could get you and the people you cared about killed in a world like this. But it also made him jealous of her—that she was still able to maintain that blind quality that could be so peaceful.

"Yeah," he agreed as he looked over his shoulder at her and the prison off in the distance. "It does."

**Sorry, the metaphor got a bit heavy towards the end there. What can I say? I just couldn't help myself :-)**


	6. Admiration

Chapter 6—Admiration

"Could be Molly's, or Luke's," she began as she leaned down over his shoulder to get a better look. Whoever it was, they were tiny. Her heart warmed at the idea that there may still be children who had made it out alive from the Governor's attack. "Whoever it is," she started, her voice sounding stronger than she could've possibly hoped for. "They're still alive."

"No," Daryl started to reply. The frustration in his tone only served to agitate her. "Just means the were alive forty five hours ago."

His words sent a chill down her spine that physically forced her to stand upright. How could he be so cynical? "They're alive," she replied sternly, refusing to allow his despair to infest her brain.

Daryl released a few breaths but left her comment untouched. She knew he was struggling to keep his anger about the attack in check. Beth reckoned she probably wasn't his ideal survivalist partner, either; the thought and the insecurities it prompted had her subconsciously biting her lip.

"They picked up the pace right here," he said, pointing ahead and drawing her attention once more. "Headed out in a hurry. Things went bad."

Beth walked past him, her feet heavy with the force of keeping her own temper in check. As she stumbled into a path, and thought that she saw a few more prints amongst the dust, she knew she couldn't let him keep thinking this way. Not only would it eat him up, it would take her down with him.

In a flash of frustration, she sternly threw over her shoulder at him "wouldn't kill you to have a little faith!" But she didn't yell. She refused to let him get a rise out of her; but neither would she allow him to treat her like she was nothing more than the dirt under his shoe.

It may have been mere hours since the fall of the prison, but his petulant frustration was already wearing on her patience.

"Faith?" He asked as he joined her on the path. His tone sent another chill through her. "Faith ain't done shit for us. Sure as hell didn't do anything for your father."

She turned so quickly, she nearly lost her footing. Instinctually, her mouth drew open, ready to scorn him for his unnecessarily cruel words about her father. Beth had tried so very hard to keep an even temper and tone with him; she knew he was suffering, just as she was.

However, that did not mean he had the right to speak about her father in this cold, cavalier way. She checked her tears, which, clearly prompted by the cruelty of his words, were now pushing against her eyes, demanding attention. Beth refused to acknowledge them as she waited for him to turn and face her.

She needed to be strong; it was no secret that stands were not necessarily her forte, but she knew, if her daddy were still here, he would want nothing more than for her to be respectful and demand respect for herself and him in return. On that sheer fact alone, she knew she that she needed to experience the pain of his loss; but that didn't require she open herself up for mistreatment.

As she waited for Daryl to turn and face her, she bit back a biting sense of disbelief. While she and Daryl had never necessarily been the best of friends—did he have friends, really? Did anyone have friends in a world like this?—she would've never expected such atrociously bitter words to come from him.

This was a Daryl she hadn't seen since their time on the farm, with the loss of that little girl. Beth knew he had been affected by her loss for quite some time after the barn doors opened, and it had caused nothing but a bad mood on his part. It was understandable, but that didn't give him the right to be rude. The same could be said for this situation. She knew he had to be hurting over the Governor's most recent attack—there was no way he could not be.

That insecurity also reappeared, whispering to her from its permanent home in the back of her mind—that she was clearly the very last person in the world he would wish to be stuck with in a situation such as this.

She bit her lip and straightened her posture. Regardless of his feelings on that particular issue, it did not give him the right to treat her or her father so disrespectfully.

After several moments of hesitation, Daryl finally started to turn to face her. When she met his eyes, she knew instantly why he had waited so long to complete the action. What she saw there may not have been enough to literally force her mouth shut, but it did the job on a metaphoric level.

With one glance at the terrible regret swimming in his eyes, she knew she couldn't lash out at him—knew there was no longer a need to make a stand. Beth knew immediately that the cruel words were just a manifestation of his own struggle to comprehend what had happened at their home, the attack they had been forced to suffer through. With ease, she realized they were both grieving, just in their own ways.

With this realization, she felt her expression naturally lighten. Not another word was spoken on the subject, a fact which appeared to relieve Daryl quite readily.

Unsure of how to proceed from here, she turned on her heel to take in their surroundings. Beth was quite relieved to see the berries to her right, as it gave her an objective, something to do.

"They'll be hungry when we find them," she said as she immediately started gathering the berries. The sentence wasn't entirely necessary; Daryl probably had no need for her explanations. But the words came out of her mouth before she even really thought about it.

If she were to be honest, they were said almost to reaffirm herself to the fact that their family had to be alive. Similarly, she needed to gather the berries, not out of her own need for food, but as a tangible object to remind her that there were children who had made it out alive and they would need her care once they were found.

She sniffed her nose as those tears pressed down upon her eyes once more. Suddenly a pressing upon her shoulder grabbed her attention. Daryl said nothing as he handed her his handkerchief to collect the berries. She refused to meet his eyes as her initial reaction pressed upon her; she was surprised that Daryl would show her such kindness, particularly after his comment about her father.

But, as soon as the surprise hit her, it was taken away by her own reasoning. It was _because_ of his comment that he felt compelled to generously offer her some assistance. She was sure his guilt for his harsh words were his motivation, just as she was sure he would continue to refuse to assume any members of their family were still alive.

From this, she knew he certainly wasn't handing her that bit of cloth in preparation of feeding others. In a sense, it was almost as if he knew this was what she needed in this moment. He may think it was ridiculous—in fact, she knew he probably did find it to be just that—but it meant a lot to her that he would rise above that and lend a helping hand, even if it was in just this one small gesture.

She took the scrap of material and continued to force herself to focus on the berries; Beth refused to look at him, for she knew it would be the end of her and the tears would undoubtedly fall as a result. For the briefest of moments, turned away from Daryl, she allowed a wave of doubt to wash over her. Her apprehension was not over the issue of their family's survival—no, of that she was almost resolutely certain. It was this very sense of certainty that caused her discomfort.

Beth refused to believe her family was dead—that her and Daryl were the only surviving members of the group she held so dear. Her conviction and faith that someone—_anyone_—else had survived was strong and simmered not very far below her surface.

It was the clarity with which she saw this truth that disconcerted her, for she knew that, if things didn't go her way, and it turned out that it was simply her and Daryl that remained, she was setting herself up for an insurmountable level of potential disappointment; a blow she wasn't certain she could overcome and survive, let alone manage to actually _live_ through.

It was frustrating, really. Part of her admired Daryl for his cold and callous disconnected way of living—his strength and sheer will to survive. While she would never say that he was inactive amongst the group—it was obvious that he cared for them—it was equally obvious that he managed to close off those feelings, to tuck them away to carry on and fight another day.

She knew that was the way to truly survive untouched by this world, but she couldn't bring herself to adapt that persona—not completely anyway, not in terms of her closest family members—no matter how much she may want to.

Sure, her walls had been on alert in regards to Zack and the other members of the Woodbury community. But, with Daryl and the others? Cracks always found a way through those previously well constructed walls. Eventually, she just settled herself to the idea that it was part of living.

It comforted her really, to know that, even when she tried to just survive, living found a way to worm its way through. To be any other way just simply wasn't in her nature; she was and is, to her very core, hopeful and compassionate. While she could acknowledge that that may not help her survive, it certainly helped them to continue living.

Yes, _them_, she thought as she glanced back at Daryl as he started to walk away. Beth could see him floundering, struggling with the losses that had occurred in the last few hours. She knew that she was their only means of hope. And she didn't intend to let him down on that front, even if he didn't know how much he needed a little light at the end of his tunnel.

:::~:::

_Hershel. The Governor. Beth. The Governor. Rick. Carl. Hershel. The Governor._

No matter what he did, he kept getting these flashes in his mind. His mind spun like a record, flashing the same images over and over again. He couldn't escape it, no matter what he did.

_Beth. The Governor. Little Ass Kicker. Carl. Rick. The Governor. Merle. Walker Merle. The Governor._

It made him angry and sad. But, most of all, the guilt pressed down upon him, weighing his entire body down. He felt like he had an entire person sitting on his shoulders, slowing him down and weighing on his conscience.

He did, he realized. The Governor was planted firmly on his shoulders, as the image of him and the fucking tank just continued to invade his mind.

But Daryl realized the Governor wasn't alone up there. He had Beth too; he felt responsible for her and, because of that, she sat on his other shoulder, with her kind smile and blind naïve beliefs that their family was still alive planted blatantly on her face.

It pissed him off. It all pissed him off.

_The Governor. Hershel. Beth. The Governor. Rick. Carl. The Governor. _

Beth had walked a few paces in front of him, and yet he knew immediately when she had stumbled upon something she didn't like. Daryl no longer heard her feet shuffling along the forest floor and he heard her release her knife from its sheath on her belt.

He felt ashamed to admit it, but he was relieved there was danger ahead, just beyond these bushes. _This _was why he had made it so long—he thrived on hunting and danger. It commanded his attention, gave him something to focus on beside his lifetime full of pain, mistakes and regrets.

Maybe it was for the best, then, that he had ended up with her. Her sheer innocence would undoubtedly keep him busy at this rate.

Daryl moved forward cautiously, not wanting to alert a Walker to their existence if they had managed to escape being noticed. But when he heard her draw in a sharp breath, he jumped forward, knowing he needed to act quickly.

Beth moved to the side as he tried his best to aim for a clean shot. But the Walker had too strong of a grip on her and was tugging her around as if she were its new favorite toy. It left him little options in terms of his bow. Quickly, he tossed his weapon aside and gripped the Walker to force it to release its hold on her. He tackled the asshole to the ground and secured his grip, ready to reach for his own knife and get the job done.

Beth's bright blonde hair caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, forcing him to turn to her. When he saw the knife in her hand and her stance—on alert and ready to attack—he decided there was no better time then now to see what she was made of.

After all, killing Walkers on the fence or with a gun was nothing compared to one who's right in your face, no barriers or nothing. But she didn't hesitate, as she gave him one silent nod to confirm that she was as ready as she could possibly be.

Intrigued to see how this would work out for her, and admittedly testing her a bit just to find out her strength to survive, he forcefully rolled onto his back, bringing the Walker to the surface and pinning it in the air, giving her a blatant and easy target. She didn't falter as she moved in and stabbed the thing directly in the middle of its forehead.

Daryl gave her one nod as he resumed standing and went for his bow. Once she had turned her back to clean off her knife and return it to its place, he allowed himself one last look at her. Where their previous conversation had left him conflicted as to whether to admire her or hate her, this had definitely interested him.

He hadn't thought she had it in her, to be violent like that. But she hadn't wavered, hadn't even hesitated. Had the Walker not had her pinned from behind from the start, he seriously suspected she would've been able to take it out on her own.

If this had been a test to see how she would be able to have his back in future conflicts, he supposed she had passed. Daryl would be the first to admit those results shocked him. If he were to be completely honest, he'd almost feel compelled to say she had impressed him. But he didn't impress easily, so he figured that was most likely not true.

No more words were spoken as Beth started to move forward. His brain worked in overdrive to attempt to comprehend how this was the same girl from his Hershel slip earlier in the day. She had had every right to angrily spit in his face at that, and yet she didn't call him on it, barely even acknowledged it. For that, he was grateful, especially since he already hated himself enough after saying that comment to begin with. He didn't need someone else adding to it.

There was something else there, too, in that conversation. The dedication she showed to believing that their family could still be alive astounded him. Her capacity for hope continued to simultaneously surprise and aggravate him.

On one hand, he didn't want to get his hopes up—he knew it was very unlikely that anyone else had survived the asshole's attack on the prison; getting his hopes up would only mean a bigger downfall when they didn't pan out to be true.

_Rick. The Governor. _

He shook his head; no time for that and it would do no good, he reckoned.

On the other, he found himself envying her again, as he had several times in the last few months. To be able to be so compassionate and caring, dedicated and assured in the potential for miracles—like their family surviving—he just couldn't even wrap his head around it.

Then there was her success with the Walker. He didn't know exactly how that fit in with her strong conviction that everything would work out okay. He supposed, if she could manage to continue to survive the fights they found themselves in, he could cut her a bit of slack on her annoying determination to make him have faith in their family.

Survival and compassion, hope and necessary violence. He wondered what else she was capable of, as he fell into pace behind her.

:::~:::

When they found the Walkers by the tracks, Daryl passed a still Beth and made quick work of taking them out. A few arrows to the head and the job was done. When he found Beth standing by, eyes trained on the bodies in front of them, he couldn't help but feel concerned about what she would do next.

"C'mon," he urged as he started walking towards the tracks. He figured if he kept her moving he could keep her motivated to find the others. As long as she was motivated, he figured she'd fight to her very last breath.

_The Governor. Beth. Rick. The Governor. _

_Stop_, he ordered himself.

As soon as he hit the tracks, he heard the sobs. Daryl couldn't say he was surprised, but not because he was judging her for finally crying; he had told himself to cut her some slack, and he would follow through on that promise. It had been a long day and she had yet to cry about losing her daddy. As far as Daryl was concerned, this had been a long time coming.

The Beth he had first met on the farm would've had a river flowing by now. Instead, she had waited, until she had been directly confronted with bodies of the dead, until she couldn't escape it—the ever-present force that is death in this world. He guessed it was just too big of a reminder of all the things they had lost—her daddy, their home, their family.

But he had changed too, he realized. The Daryl she first met on the farm would be challenging her, confronting her about her weakness. Instead, he turned to her and simply gave her time to get it out. He may not know what to say—comforting wasn't among his list of skills—but he wasn't rude, and that was really all she could ask of him.

It took a bit of time—time which was spent completely in silence, except for her sobs—but eventually she collected herself and met him on the tracks. She crossed her arms over her chest and hunched her back, sniffing her nose as she waited for him to start walking again. He noticed she refused to meet his eyes.

Daryl started to move them forward, walking in silence. He knew from experiences with her that if she wanted to talk, she'd make it so. Until then, he would grant her silence, if that was really what she wanted.

"Those poor people," she said suddenly after such a long period of silence that it almost caused him to jump. "To be mutilated like that, to have your body ripped to shreds, to have nothing left of who you were."

He knew immediately that she was talking about the people on the side of the tracks. "Better that than becomin' a Walker."

_Merle_.

_Stop_, he thought with a sigh.

Daryl saw Beth nod out of the corner of his eye. "Yes," she started. "But it's still not a fate I'd wish on anyone."

"They were dead," he responded, as if it was obvious. "Didn't feel nothin'."

"That doesn't mean they deserved it," she said. He saw her look to his face for the first time and his eyes moved to meet hers before he could stop his neck from craning to do so.

"Were probably bad people anyway," he said after a minute of just looking at her, with a casual shrug of indifference.

"You don't know that," she insisted, but her voice didn't really hold any edge to it. It sounded as if she was really just stating a fact for him.

"S'pose I don't," he said with a nod. "But also can't be sure they weren't like—"

_The Governor_.

He stopped himself with a sigh, just before he put voice to the name that wouldn't leave his mind. Despite how much that name wouldn't leave his head alone, it didn't seem to want to come out of his mouth. He looked to the ground for a short moment to figure out what he could say as an alternative.

"Look at my brother."

_Merle_.

When he started to speak, he looked up but forward, avoiding her eyes. He held the position as he continued. "He was nothing but a piece'a shit his whole life. Until the very end, when he turned it around. And what did he get for all that trouble?"

_Walker Merle._

"Turned int'a Walker," he continued with a shrug, as if to make it clear it was in the past and, therefore, held some lower level of interest to him in the present. "There's no justice here…not no more."

"And thanks to what he did, the sacrifice that he made, you're still here. I'm still here. Our family is still…out there, somewhere. He bought us time."

"Fat lotta good that did," he said with a scoff as he looked back down to the tracks. Merle had died and the Governor had still come.

_Merle. The Governor. Rick. Another brother. The Governor. Beth. _

"It did," she reassured him as she came to a stop and placed a hand on his own, forcing him to stop too. "It bought us _months_, and brought us new people. It allowed us to build a life there in the prison. It was beautiful, really," she finished as she looked to the ground briefly with a small, sweet smile on her face.

He still admired that she could find things to smile about, with the world gone to shit. Still pissed him off a bit, though, too.

"Ya defended him," Daryl said as he turned to continue walking down the tracks. Her hand fell from his and he felt instantly relieved. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that she was confused about what he was talking about.

"Well, not defended really," he continued as he adamantly kept his eyes to the ground. "But, when he came back with me, and Maggie and Glenn were pissed, ya told 'em somethin'," he trailed off as he tried to remember what she had specifically said.

Her heard her chuckle slightly and look up towards the sky. "I remember!" she cried with a smile. "Maggie was arguin' that it was all Merle's fault, that if it weren't for him, the—they—_they_ wouldn't be after us at all."

_The Governor_, he realized. She struggled with it too.

_The Governor. Beth. The Governor._

"You told 'em that was bullshit," he said with a shake of his head to clear his thoughts.

She nodded, although he did notice that she cringed a bit; he assumed she took issue with his language—a fact which almost made him smile.

"Yes," she started slowly. "I did. She needed to realize that…that _they_ were coming, regardless of whether Merle was there or not. Merle was guilty of capturing her; there was no denying that. And what he did was terrible. But he wasn't responsible for leading the Woodbury people astray. To blame him for that would've been dishonest."

"You doin' that," he began, alternating between looking at her and the tracks. "It…helped a lot," he said, not able to bring himself to acknowledge how much he had really appreciated it. And he had admired her for it—standing up to her older sibling like that. At her age, standing up to Merle was the last thought on his mind.

She looked at him but he noticed that she didn't talk. Finally, he forced himself to meet her eyes and she started to smile. The way she seemed to be able to read through him made him suddenly uncomfortable; but the fact that she had waited until he met her eyes to show any form of a response made him feel like he had to keep looking at her, or she'd take it away and not give him her opinion on it.

"Of course," she said with a nod and a deeper smile. "It needed to be said, for the good of the group." He had just started to consider looking away when her voice drew him in again. "But," she said with a smile. "It needed to be said for _you_ too. You do a lot for our group, and you're such a good person—never asking anything in return.

"For that reason alone, Merle should've been given a chance," she continued, taking a short pause to release a breath. "If the choice was between keeping Merle and losing you…well," she trailed off for a moment, as she looked him resolutely in the eye. It was unnerving, but he couldn't look away. "Then there wasn't really a choice, was there?"

She reminded him of Dale in that moment, of a conversation from what felt like decades ago. After Randall had joined their group and Daryl had stepped up to get some answers from the guy, Dale had made a point of saying that wasn't who he really was—that he was a better person than that. Rick had known it, Dale had said.

At the time he had just scoffed and shrugged it off. Really, the words had hit far closer to home than he had wanted to admit. He didn't want to be seen as the torturer—the person to bring in when a problem needed taking care off.

While dynamics in the group had changed drastically since that day when Dale approached him, there were plenty of times when Daryl still felt that was how his supposedly supportive family saw him—good for nothing more than the dirty work.

But Beth obviously didn't. Yet again he held her stare and felt like she had this ability to see right through him. It unnerved him and made him incredibly uncomfortable, to the point where he felt he had no other choice but to look away.

:::~:::

She had very little recollection of grabbing her journal on the way out of the prison; she had to actively think about the steps she had taken to reassemble how the item had come into her hands.

She had returned one last time, in the hopes of finding the children. When she found no one, she had started to run back towards the exit, when something compelled her to stop in front of her cell.

Beth had grabbed very little. She had very few tangible items that held any fundamental value to her. But her journal, tucked under her pillow, had called to her.

She hadn't even grabbed a pen. No matter, she thought, as its pages were now being used as kindling. But, she paid particular attention to which pages she dropped in the fire; she had started at the end of the book and progressed further towards the front with every page torn.

It was silly, really. But when she reached the pages she had written on, she simply couldn't bring herself to rip them out. Instead, she took to studying them. Why she did it, she hadn't the slightest idea—it was merely a means of torture, reminding herself of the warmth and comfort she had found in their home, in their family.

Suddenly she regretted removing every last blank page in the book, because she knew one day they would be reunited with their group and she would need a place to record their new adventures. Her faith was that strong—strong enough to induce a powerful wave of regret at merely ripping out the remaining empty pages.

This feeling only got stronger as she stumbled upon the very first passage she had written after they had found the prison. Beth had bragged about having her own bed, her own room. She could recall how foreign that concept had been, after a winter spent on the road, sleeping wherever they could make do.

She'd mentioned her daddy—how he hoped this could be a permanent dwelling for them. He'd told her she needed to unpack her things, settle in—that everything was settled. _Finally_.

Beth remembered the conversation with her daddy clear as day. He had noticed that she had hesitated to settle—it had become easier to simply live on edge, with constant reminders that nothing was permanent. Not in this world.

But her daddy had told her. He had always known. "If you don't have hope, what's the point of living?"

That one little question had changed her life. Ever since her selfish day spent in a bathroom with a shard of glass to her veins, she had resolved to live her life to the fullest; in this world, tomorrow was no guarantee. But she had never thought of hope as the very source and reason for which they lived. Not until that day.

While she constantly worried that she wasn't rough enough to make it in this world, she knew she may be one of the very few left that truly looked after and cared for her sense of humanity. She obviously had her daddy to thank for that.

She had unpacked her bag that very day. And she had never repacked it again. Not even on the day the Governor rode up to their gates with a tank.

Part of her admired herself for that, the sheer courage that was required for that act. She had had so many reservations, so many fears. And yet she still managed to unpack that bag with her head held high.

But her daddy had encouraged it. She had more faith in her daddy than anyone else in the world, even after the incident with the Walkers in the barn. If he said it was time, it was time.

Part of her had understood that it was about setting an example—the others needed to see that this was a safe zone, a place to call home, a place to settle.

Her father had always placed the wellbeing of the group above any of his own needs or concerns. When the others started getting sick, he had gone in to treat them. Even though Little Ass Kicker may have carried the illness, Beth matched his example and volunteered to isolate herself with the child. She and her father had always known that the mental health of the others was more important than their own physical, emotional or mental needs.

Beth had finished the entry with a reassurance that none of them were going to die. She promised that she believed now, for the sake of her daddy; she had followed his example once again—he assured the others they would make it, so she did as well. With that, came a statement that sent a chill down her spine.

"If this doesn't work, I don't know how I could keep going."

She looked up to Daryl, who hadn't spoken in hours and appeared to be resolutely set on poking the fire needlessly with a stick. _He _was how she could keep going. Despite their earlier conversation about Merle, she could tell he was still suffering intense emotions, particularly directed towards the Governor. He may not like to show it, but he was struggling with this, possibly even more than she was.

Because of that, she knew she had to keep carrying on, keep hoping, _for the both of them_. She had an inherent sense of faith and hope, of course, but part of it was driven from the fact that he didn't and she, therefore, felt the need to compensate for the deficit.

Her father had always set a model in the hopes that the others would follow suit. It had been admirable, of course, but was now necessarily applicable. When Beth looked at Daryl, his troubled state leaked all over his face. And she knew instantly that that was precisely what needed to happen here.

Daryl may have a mastery on the concept of surviving, but he needed to learn to _live_.


	7. Intimacy Part I

**It was my intention to complete both ****_Still _****and ****_Alone _****in one chapter each. Obviously, that turned out to just not be enough space :-)**

**Specifically, to the Guest who reviewed Chapter 5 yesterday and expressed some concern about Carol—Personally, in my interpretations during viewings, I have seen some hints from Carol that she has feelings for Daryl. But I have never seen any indication that he in any way returns them; if anything, I think it makes him moderately uncomfortable at times. That was really what I was trying to show in that added early interaction at the prison. But that is merely my interpretation; I could be completely incorrect. **

**For now, just know that I have yet to really fully address the Caryl issue, but that won't be the case in a few chapters :-)**

They stumbled out of the woods and Beth felt as if her side was about to explode in sheer agony. How long had they been running? She couldn't seem to put a number on the amount of time that had passed.

Without speaking, they moved towards the car they had almost run into in their hurried exit from the forest. Beth climbed into the front seat and attempted to turn the key to no avail. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Daryl poised and at the ready with his bow.

She wasn't surprised in the least to see him covering her, despite the fact that not a word had been spoken between them for almost the entirety of the night. They had spent the last few hours narrowly evading Walker attacks.

As the time had passed, contributing to the already lengthening amount of time since the prison had fallen, they had gained a sense of partnership in their movements and attack methods; words were no longer a necessity. Being forced repeatedly into life or death situations would achieve that, she reckoned.

Daryl only looked back to her when the car refused to start. Without explicitly intending to do so, she turned and met his eyes just as he turned to look to her. Beth was concerned that the car refused to start, but as she turned and took in Daryl's cool collectiveness, she attempted to school her own features into a similar pattern. If she could help Daryl learn how to live, he could teach her how to survive.

Daryl moved towards the trunk and, once again, she was able to perceive his intentions without one word being needed on his part. They each climbed in and settled, knowing that the herd would be on them in a matter of moments.

After the several attacks they had suffered earlier on in the evening, an understanding was reached between the pair of them—a herd was developing, and they were directly in the middle of it.

As the sounds of the Walkers grew closer, Beth glanced over to Daryl to get a read on his expression. He was still so cool and collected, but he held his bow rigidly, prepared to fight to the death if he had to. Mimicking his actions, she pulled out her knife and held it firmly, despite the fact that her palm was already sweating from the cramped and heated environment of the trunk.

Moments later, the Walkers latched onto their trunk. Beth bit her lip and kept her eyes glued ahead of her, attempting to prepare herself to launch if the situation called for it. She forced herself to remain stoic and in control. It was undeniable that the Walkers could probably smell them, but, perhaps, she thought, if they could remain quiet enough, something louder would come along and divert their attention.

The concept of time was completely lost on Beth, as they sat in their trunk, eyes glued ahead and waiting for some form of a break in the oppressive net of Walkers that pushed harshly upon their hiding place. She was exhausted, but she had far too much adrenaline and worries in her system to even contemplate attempting to fall asleep.

Besides, she thought as she noted Daryl's maintained position out of the corner of her eye, she couldn't leave Daryl alone in his defenses. She held as still as she could—only fidgeting from discomfort occasionally. But, she noted, Daryl did not flinch once—no itch was scratched, no discomfort acknowledged; never did he falter.

Her mind wandered as she wondered where he had learned to be so still, so resourceful and prepared. The question bred a curiosity about the man sitting next to her that was suddenly almost as strong as her sense of hope and faith.

No one knew Daryl well. She knew he had been close to Carol, but she felt certain Carol shared far more with him than he did in return. Beth had seen with her own eyes that Carol was invested in their relationship—whatever the nature of it may have been—more than Daryl was, as he managed to converse with her, but maintained a certain safe distance as he pushed her attempts at physical contact away.

Did anyone know him intimately? Sure, everyone in their family had known him. And he was infamous amongst the Woodbury people, due in large part to his contributions around the prison. But did anyone actually _know _him? What was his childhood like? What had happened between him and Merle? She knew he had been forced to kill his brother, who had been turned into a Walker, but she knew very little other than that.

And, then, there was, of course, the question of what he did before all of this. That question had plagued her almost as much as it had Zack. But she had refused to pry previously, believing that if he wanted someone to know, he would've said. Part of her wondered if he would've been honest with Zack if he had guessed the right answer. She wasn't so sure he really wanted to let anybody in.

But that was before now. They had each other and that was it—for the foreseeable future, anyway. They would eventually find their family, of course, but until then they needed to rely on each other. There would be no other human contact outside of this one person.

Because of this, she knew she needed to try to crack his shell a little bit, to try to find a way for him to open up—if for no other reason than she knew he was harboring some intense emotions from the fallout of the Governor's attack.

He was angry with someone or something—that much was clear. Him taking his frustrations out on her had made for a series of long days since the fall of the prison. Beth tried to be patient with him, but she was no saint; there was only so much restraint she had to offer. But this wasn't all about her; she knew, if he carried on this way forever, it would only hurt them both in the end.

The fading moans and a peak at sunlight finally roused her from her thoughts hours later. The pressure started to relieve from the trunk as the Walkers began to walk off. Finally, they were alone once more.

Beth, as if out of habit, looked immediately to Daryl. He held up three fingers, indicating she should wait until they were absolutely certain the coast was actually clear. She nodded her understanding and felt her shoulders unclench for the first time all evening.

Beth watched Daryl as he continued to hold his bow, ready to go if the situation demanded it. His expression was the same as it had been all night—troubled and determined. She was worried about him—worried that he was bothered by their losses far more than he was choosing to let on.

Finally, when she felt enough time had passed, she leaned forward and unhooked the trunk. To breathe a round of fresh air felt heavenly, even if her legs did not. She stumbled her way out of the trunk, feeling as though she hadn't moved for days, not mere hours. But the combination of exertion from running and still air with crammed space had done severe damage and caused a resolute stiffness that she feared might be present for a few days.

Picking up a nearby trash bag and pushing the pains out of her mind, she scoured the car for anything that could be remotely useful, as Daryl climbed over the car to do the same. She reached for a few bottles of water, some shards of glass from a shattered headlight and a detached side mirror, among a few other random items she hoped she could possibly find a use for later, including a relatively sparse first-aid kit that had been tucked in the trunk.

Once again she watched Daryl out of the corner of her eyes. She wanted nothing more than to carry her own weight. While she would probably never be considered a prized fighter, she could, at the very least, seek to be of some help. She hoped some of the items she had acquired could help her do so.

When she had salvaged every thing she thought could be of potential use, she came to a still stop and looked forward along the road. The sun was just coming over the horizon, and she couldn't help but stop briefly to think of how beautiful of a day it could turn out to be.

Her thoughts were disrupted as Daryl came to a stop next to her. She looked over to meet his eyes, which were already resting on her face. He looked at her for several seconds before starting a heavy walk with slouched shoulders. With him no longer actively looking at her, she allowed the worry to breach her face—worry for him, worry for their family, worry for their safety.

But now was not the time. She needed to set her example. Shaking off her momentary concern, she fell into pace directly behind him.

:::~:::

Time had passed. He couldn't be sure exactly how many days it had been since the prison fell, but it was enough to call it week_s_, as in plural. Enough time that any semblance of hope that their family was still alive was gone.

That didn't seem to be the case with Beth, though, he thought as he silently maneuvered around the forest floor. She kept talking to him about finding the trail again, but the trail had run cold. He didn't know how many more ways he could tell her that.

And after narrowly evading a herd the entire night, he wasn't sure where she was finding the energy to do it anymore. Of all the people he had lived with at the prison, he realized he had probably known her least; except maybe in the case of some of the people from Woodbury, and that was only because he had known them for less amount of time.

Despite what had to be over two years that had passed since they had landed on the farm, he still felt like he barely knew Beth. They had had the occasional interaction, and the common ground forged by Zack's death. But that was about it.

He wasn't so sure that wasn't the case for a lot of the members of their family. Where Maggie was pushy and loud, Beth was usually so quiet. Before they moved into the prison, he wasn't even completely sure he ever heard her speak, except for when she was directly spoken too.

That had changed. She had changed. The world had changed, gotten even worse. She had spoken out on a few occasions, most of which he actually could remember clearly. But that was only because they were so few and far between.

Did anyone know her well? Her sister, of course. And her daddy. But other than that? Had Glenn, her own brother-in-law, really even known her?

Daryl knew he didn't. And he didn't really want to either. From what he could see, in the time that had passed, she was little more than a spoiled farmer's daughter who had some misguided notions about the world, particularly in the cases of their family.

He had tried to tolerate her up until now; her kind words about Merle had helped him to this point. But, now…she was grating on his every nerve more with every passing hour, so much so that he had taken off on his own to hunt. Despite the fact that she was practically a stick, she somehow managed to make far more noise than he did as she scuffled along.

_Finally_, he thought as he spotted a squirrel climbing up the tree. He missed, a fact which made him grumble in an ever-deepening level of frustration. He _never_ missed, he thought as he stomped over to retrieve his arrow.

It was broken, snapped beyond repair. Apparently he hadn't only screwed up by missing the squirrel, he had destroyed one of his very few remaining arrows in the process. He had screwed up…_again_.

_The Governor. Hershel. Merle. The Governor._

Daryl shook his head, hoping to get rid of this repeating pattern. But Beth insisting that they were all still alive didn't help matters. She was almost as annoying as the repeating cycle of names and flashes from the attack that seemed to never leave him alone, no matter what he did.

Even as he turned to return to their camp, the thoughts took over once more. The tank, sending Rick down to the yard. Settling in when obviously nowhere was safe, not no more. What had he been thinking?

_The Governor. Rick. Carl. The Governor. Hershel. Michonne. The Governor. _

:::~:::

Beth had never expected to think this, but she was now grateful for the winter they had spent out on the road after the farm had fallen. Had it not been for that time, she suspected she would be utterly useless to Daryl now. In that time, she had learned the basics—building fires and constructing an alert system that would allow them both to rest somewhat easily over the course of the night.

She knew she couldn't contribute much in matters of tracking or hunting, but this she could certainly do. She dug a small pit for her fire and organized a bit of kindling that looked promising. Reaching into her bag of goodies collected from the car that very morning, she retrieved the mirror and a shard of glass.

Just looking at the sharp edges nearly made her wince in pain. Beth spared one moment to glance down at the scar she still had on her left wrist—a scar her daddy had told her she would always have. After briefly acknowledging her past mistakes, she pushed forward, refusing to let it drag her down any further.

She made quick work of setting a spark to the kindling. It took only a matter of seconds once she got the angle correct, and even that hadn't taken her long, as she had become quite good at the task in their winter on the road.

Once the fire had been built, she set to stringing up their alert system for the evening. She removed several of the hubcaps they had collected from the car and put them to good use. When she was done, she tested the system, insuring Walkers would be caught by the material, no matter what angle they came from, and that the hubcaps were loud enough to wake them up, if the situation called for it.

When the tasks were completed, she took a moment to take in their surroundings. A ladybug sitting on a nearby leaf caught her attention, and she couldn't help but smile as she leaned in to pick it up and place it on her finger. Beth took this as confirmation that, despite the fact that things looked rather bleak at the moment, hope was not meant to be lost. She just had to hold strong and keep finding the beauty that surrounded them.

Beth released the ladybug and looked up as something caught her eye just a bit off in the distance; she knew beyond a doubt that it was Daryl, even before her eyes focused. She would recognize his prostrate form in its attack mode anywhere, as he stood perfectly still, obviously lying in wait to spring on some form of animal that would become their dinner. He lunged forward abruptly and Beth drew in a small breath in surprise.

She watched in silence as he brutally skinned the now headless and deceased animal. Beth had very little experience in this area, but she suspected the violence, aggression and anger with which he approached the task was not necessarily needed.

Once again that deep concern for him made its way to the surface; it always lingered, in the back of her mind, but during times such as these, when she saw him lashing out, it came to the forefront of her mind and refused to be ignored.

Beth tried her very hardest to remind herself that this was simply his way of dealing with things. They had lost a great deal, and while she obviously cared to stop and acknowledge that they had many things to still be thankful for, he seemed determined to destroy everything in his path.

She wondered if this perhaps had something to do with the fact that they hadn't been able to destroy the Governor, hadn't been able to put a stop to his plan when it meant the most. Now, perhaps, he felt he had to destroy everything else, in the hopes that eventually he'd destroy the right thing.

She, of course, did not blame him for the attack in the least. But that didn't matter, she realized. She suspected he blamed himself for it all—down to every last bullet fired. He was wrong and she wanted to tell him as much. But she hadn't the slightest clue how she was supposed to go about it.

For perhaps the tenth time that day, she lamented the fact that she didn't have a more intimate knowledge of her companion. If she knew him better, she thought, she'd know how to approach the topic.

As it were, they held a heavy silence as they both made their way back to the center of the camp. Daryl set to cooking the snake, which looked anything but appetizing to her.

Beth knew beggars couldn't be choosers, but as soon as he handed over her portions of the catch, she felt her nose crinkle in disapproval. Part of Beth would always be the pampered daughter of a prosperous farmer—the girl who had been kept from the horrors of this world far longer than anyone else had. They had had plenty of food supplies, even in the end of the world. She had never wanted for a meal, never gone to bed hungry. Not before the turn, anyway.

Snake was not a meal she frequently sought. In fact, this would be her first tasting of it, and it was by anything other than her choice. One bite was sufficient enough to tell her she couldn't do it. She tried to ingest a bit more, knowing she would need the nourishment for later. But she just couldn't bring herself to force it down her throat.

She felt horrible, knowing that Daryl had worked hard to bring them dinner. But she couldn't help but think some degree of it was beyond her control. She was adaptable to a certain extent, but even the others had known she was only capable of a set amount of change. Their coddling had proven just that to her.

Beth thought back on all of the things she had been sheltered from experiencing. She wondered just how the world had fallen apart—she hadn't been allowed to experience it as everyone else from their family had. Her father had kept the news from them, settling instead for telling them that things had gotten bad, but were by no means beyond hope.

As a result, she had been sheltered from the truth about the Walkers for far too long. It left her with a naïveté about her, which seemed to broadcast to others that she was too small, too innocent to really manage to take care of herself in the world as it was now.

The need of the others, specifically those who were actually related to her through blood, to protect her may have taught her what it meant to live, but it did her no help in the matter of surviving.

Her family had always sought to follow their own moral compass with a certain degree of determination. Her father's struggle with alcoholism was really the source of it, she believed. She knew her daddy had felt bad for abandoning them as he had and, from that, he drew a dedication towards preserving them and protecting them.

Especially from alcohol, Beth recollected. Before the world had crumbled apart, she had frequently observed friends allowed to partake in some form of an alcoholic beverage prior to the required age of twenty-one. But she had never been among them; her father's struggle kept all alcohol out of the house and the term grew to be seen as little more than a dirty word. She, herself, had never even really considered taking a drink before.

Suddenly the very idea that she wasn't allowed to try something based on the mistakes of others seemed unjustifiable to her. Beth had understood the risk, she had been led to believe that alcohol could be potentially addicting, if it wasn't handle maturely. Because of this, she had never pressed the issue against her parents.

But they were gone. The thought crashed upon her and she felt herself bite her lip in the hopes of preventing any more tears falling. She refused to fall to her emotions again, she told herself.

She was making a stand. A stand against her frail emotions that make her seem sheltered and weak to the others. A stand against the conception that whatever decision her family came to about her wellbeing was obviously for the best.

Suddenly, the idea of going to find alcohol took hold of her brain. Tears were no longer a problem as she thought about the action. It would be a declaration, really—one that would state _she _is responsible for making her own decisions and determining her own ability to survive in this world. Her family, including Maggie, no longer held that authority over her.

It was clear to her—this would be her way of refuting the sheltered bubble they had worked so hard to keep her in up until now. Beth no longer wanted to be seen as the little girl who needed protection. Alcohol, to her, suddenly equated to independence from her family's hindrance of her. In essence, it would be a step towards being viewed as an adult.

But there were other reasons too—ideas she touched on but refused to linger over. Part of her wanted to stop grieving the loss of her father. She would, of course, continue to suffer from the loss—it was too great to simply put behind her with one toasting drink. But, she believed this could help her move forward, to gain some closure on losing one of the most important people in her life. One drink, to the memory of him. It could do her quite a bit of good, in her opinion.

There was a sense of _living_ to the decision as well—a refusal to settle for Daryl's meager surviving existence. If he was right—and she truly didn't think he was—and it was just the two of them for the rest of their days, she refused to settle for surviving. She wanted to thrive in this life, no matter how messy the world had become. She wanted to be proactive, to do things, to experience things—to _live_.

And it would be good for Daryl, as well, she believed. Daryl always seemed eager for distraction—a task, an objective to keep his focus off of things that plagued him. He wanted to push forward and try to forget their past, their family? Fine, she would allow him to do so. For now.

She was determined now. But one look at the obviously troubled and frustrated Daryl had her wavering, if only temporarily.

But then she remembered. The handkerchief—that one, tiny, supposedly insignificant detail. He didn't believe their family was alive—he had said as much in no uncertain terms. And, if his words hadn't so cruelly confirmed that very fact, his actions certainly did the trick for him; it had been days since he had listened to her insistence that they seek out a trail.

If, in his mind, there was no chance that even one single member of their family had survived the attack, why would he offer her his handkerchief, especially after she had specified that her sole purpose in gathering the berries was not to assuage her own hunger, but the hunger of those they were following?

Beth couldn't be sure, but she suspected he had understood her in that moment—understood that the collection had two motivations that warred for dominance. Yes, she had, of course, gathered the berries under the pretense of feeding the children she had hoped they would find within the next few hours. But she had also sought a distraction—a means of diverting her attention from her own insecurities, fears and worries.

She couldn't help but think that was a bit of common ground between them. She didn't often avoid things, particularly in regards to herself. But the insecurities she had faced with her back turned to him that day were some of the few that never truly left her—that her hope served to preserve her humanity, but left her ill-equipped in the matter of survival.

Perhaps he had recognized the lack of necessity in the words as she indicated she was gathering the berries for the children. She herself had noted that they weren't all together necessary. Perhaps, she thought, he had recognized a familiar need for external reaffirmation—external distraction, really—from the thoughts she feared the most.

He had given her the handkerchief, even though he didn't believe there were any children left to receive the berries in question. He had assisted her in her search for their family and in her objective to keep them moving, even though he didn't believe the end would be satisfactory. Perhaps, she wondered, he would be able to understand her desire for a drink in a similar way. The hope pushed her forward, gave her the final push of strength she needed to issue her request.

"I need a drink," she muttered as she looked briefly to him before lowering her eyes to the ground. She knew this would most likely not go over well. But what did with him lately? They hadn't spoken in hours, possibly over an entire day at this point. Time no longer held any meaning to her.

Without even looking up at her, he threw his bottle of water in her direction, very nearly hitting her in the process. She bit her lip once more and attempted to restrain herself from releasing her own anger in his direction. Beth knew he was struggling and just dealing in his own way. She did her best to be patient with him, but it was growing more and more challenging with every hour spent in silence.

"No," she began and noticed that, despite her best efforts, a bit of her frustration infused her tone. "I mean a _real_ drink. As in alcohol." Beth paused as she kept her eyes trained on his face, waiting for some form of a response. While she had previously expected and dreaded anger to be prevalent and form, she now wished for it—_any _emotion would be better than no reaction whatsoever.

"I've never had one," she started again, when he made no obvious move to respond. "'Cause of my dad. But…" she trailed off and bit her lip again. "He's not exactly around anymore. So…" Silence pressed upon the space between them, as she felt awkwardly compelled to continue. "I thought we could go find some," she finished, deciding that there was no way she could continue to hold this conversation on her own.

She leaned in, impatiently still awaiting some form of a response. When he remained stubbornly silent, snake still in hand as he swallowed it down like it was the greatest thing since sliced bread, she felt her eyes roll upwards as her frustration with him reached a newfound height.

"Okay," she began yet again and noticed that the frustration was obvious in her tone now. "Um, enjoy your snake jerky." She stood and grabbed her knife, knowing she needed to escape this situation before her temper grew any shorter.

"Jerk," she muttered to herself as she continued to reflect on his lack of response. Empathy came so easily to her that she struggled to understand those who appeared to abhor any form of compassion whatsoever. She knew that her disparaging comment made her sound childish, but she knew that didn't automatically mean she was immature.

She was angry with Daryl—angry that he couldn't understand why she needed this, angry that he couldn't have faith in their family, faith in her. It was in her right to be so; she had tolerated his bad mood for as long as she could. There was a difference between understanding and submissive. She refused to be the latter.

As she continued to walk off, she knew she shouldn't let his behavior get to her. His frustration was evident, seeping over all facets of his face. Beth started to suspect that it wasn't for lack of drive on his part that they had failed to seek out the trail over the last few days; it seemed to her that it may now be fact that the trail leading to their family had run cold.

This only seemed to add to his frustration, as she saw that it was beginning to wear on his capacity for hope. She didn't believe her insistence that they keep looking helped either, but she had to keep faith alive, for both of their sakes.

If she didn't hold strong, she knew he would allow the despair to consume him, further than it already had, that is. Beth may not know Daryl intimately or even particularly well, but she knew he had a habit of refusing to face his issues, choosing instead to merely push through and force himself to keep busy, in the hopes that if he didn't think about it, it would never touch him.

She would see to fixing that. Even if it took her to the end of the world, she would still see it through.

:::~:::

Daryl was right. She did hear them long before she saw them. Thankfully, they were loud enough to pull her from the intensity of her thought, just in time to tuck herself behind a tree as a means of protection. She could see out of the corner of her eye that she had turned just in time and that it was a decent sized cluster of Walkers.

Not an insurmountable amount, but more than she thought she could take on her own. She supposed she could return to camp and enlist Daryl's help; there was no denying that she was fast enough to out-run them. But she didn't think it was altogether necessary.

A rock pressed against her foot, giving her an idea instantly. Making a concentrated effort to move as little as possible—Beth knew they were far too close to miss smelling and hearing her presence as it was—she reached down to scoop up the rock and throw it off into the distance. Her teeth clamped down on her lip as she listened to the Walkers shuffle in the direction of the new sound.

But the sound of feet didn't leave her entirely. Judging by the noises that were making their way towards her, she suspected one hadn't fallen for her trick. One, she could take. It made her apprehensive, but it was what needed to be done.

She removed her knife immediately, feeling no need whatsoever to chance a glance to confirm the Walker was headed her way; there was not a shred of doubt that one still remained.

The lingering sounds slowly receded, leaving Beth to believe that her remaining buddy had found his way towards the rock, just at the others had. To be certain, she cautiously glanced around the protection of the tree, knife now poised and ready to strike if her ears had deceived her.

Fortunately, they hadn't. The scene that met her eyes was peaceful and empty once more.

A wave of confidence overtook her. She may not be the most enthusiastic fighter, but no one could deny that she was creative, clever and crafty. Not any more.

The snapping of a twig set her on edge once more. Turning her head and expecting a Walker to be right in front of her, she was pleasantly surprised to be proven wrong. Daryl was in front of her, his bow poised, but not aimed, as it sat casually in his hand.

Beth found herself wondering just how long he had been standing there. Had he seen the Walkers approaching? Judging by the high alert nature of his stance, she suspected he had been there to witness the entire interaction.

Which begged the question—why didn't he help her? It was obvious to her that he had quite enjoyed taking his frustrations out on physical endeavors, especially since they had climbed out of that trunk. Beth would've thought killing a band of Walkers would've been right up his alley today.

For one moment, Daryl met her eyes and she could see a flicker of respect there—meant entirely for her. It almost took her breath away; she was sad to see it go as quickly as it came, but she could appreciate the information that one tiny, seemingly insignificant moment had afforded her.

Beth's question reappeared in her mind again, as if by an echo—was he perhaps testing her, seeing what type of potential she may have? If this interaction had given her anything, it would be confirmation that he was doing just that.

:::~:::

"I'm pretty sure we have to go that way to find the others," he heard her say as he saw her point in some vague direction out of the corner of his eye. He didn't respond, just settled for stepping smoothly over their hubcap rigged alert system without even missing a beat.

Beth, on the other hand, crashed into the metal, causing a ripple of sound to erupt in the quiet forest. But that was nothing to the voice that suddenly poured from her mouth.

"What the hell? You brought me back?!" she yelled. The sound of it bothered Daryl—he wasn't used to hearing her voice sound like that. Usually it was as sweet as honey, and just as smooth. But not now. It had an edge to it—almost like a lemon, all happy and cheerful looking on the outside, but take a bite and it's bitter as shit.

"I'm not staying in this suck ass camp!" Suddenly she was flipping the bird.

The dam he had built to try to keep up the show of tolerating her suddenly sprung a leak. "Hey!" he yelled in return as he grabbed her arm and tugged her back towards their camp. "You had your fun." He knew it was his responsibility to keep her safe but she sure as hell wasn't making the job an easy one.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she asked as she released her arm from his grip. Her voice had lost some of the edge, but it still wasn't what he typically associated as her voice. "Do you feel anythin'?" she paused as her eyes scanned his face and he felt uncomfortable immediately. "Yeah, you think everything's screwed. I guess that's a feelin'," she stopped as her voice cut back another level on its edge. "So you want to spend the rest of our lives staring into a fire and eatin' mud snakes?"

Why shouldn't he? That was all he had done his whole life. He was no pampered princess—not like _her_.

"I might as well do somethin'!" Beth stopped again and seemed to reign in her anger. When she looked to him again, her chin was pointed up and she had a stubborn look on her face—yet another thing he wasn't used to associating with the littlest Greene.

"I can take care of myself and I'm gonna get a damn drink." The words weren't angry, just determined. While he could admit he was a bit impressed by the resourcefulness she had shown with that last line of Walkers, he wasn't so sure she was really ready to take care of herself.

But that didn't matter. No matter how much he didn't like the idea of it, she was right. If he really did think that none of the others were alive—or, as he should say, he didn't want to go down the dangerous road of hoping they might be, only to spiral towards a not-so happy ending—it would just be the two of them left, to rely on each other for everything—survival, food.

The idea of talking to no one other than the littlest Greene for the rest of his life rubbed him the wrong way. He wasn't even really sure why it did; he just knew it bothered him. They had come from opposite family situations, they had no beliefs in common—nothing in common in general really.

But that didn't matter now, did it. They had made it out together. He knew the others would expect him to be alive, but Beth? He doubted they would think the same of her.

And yet, he had just seen her take out those Walkers. And she was becoming more vocal. Nobody stood up to him the way she just had. Carol knew him and respected him—but she gave him his space and let him scream at her, even when she had done nothing wrong.

Not Beth. He had been treating her like shit; he knew it and did nothing to work against it. Daryl had expected her to sit back and just take it, like most of the people—_all_ of the people in his life had, other than Merle.

But she hadn't. She had shoved it back in his face. There was something about that that was oddly unsettling and promising, all at the same time. As she marched past him to gather her things, barely even sparing him a glance as she did so, he had to admit that she knew what she wanted finally. And she was going after it, no matter whether he agreed to go with or not.

It was for that very reason that he packed his things and followed her forward into the forest.


	8. Intimacy Part II

**Just a head's up, prompted by an excellent review from an awesomely consistent reader—****_Still _****is more focused on Beth's point of view, whereas ****_Alone_**** is nearly all Daryl. Just FYI :-)**

**To the Guest who submitted the very, very exceptionally kind words in a review of the seventh chapter, ****_you _****are exceptional! Thank you very much for your compliments. **

**In general, really, I'm so appreciative of the responses I've received for this story! You've all been fabulous! I hope that I continue to live up to the high praise you have issued! **

No words may have been spoken as they made their way through the forest, but words weren't needed as the frustration rolled off of Daryl in waves. Beth could see it in the hard lines of his shoulders, hidden beneath the angel wings on his vest. Something was troubling him, but she couldn't be certain whether it was just residual internal conflict over their loss to the Governor or something new. Yet again she lamented the fact that she didn't know him better; it certainly could've come in handy now, with his stubborn refusal to meet her eyes.

They stumbled out of the forest onto the rough of a golf course. She slid past him a few steps as she squinted in the sudden harshness of uninhibited sunlight, the likes of which she hadn't seen in several hours.

"Golfers like to booze it up, right?" she asked as she turned to look at him over her shoulder. As he met her eyes, she noticed that his frustration had ebbed a bit, leaving behind a vague sense of concern. In looking to meet each other's eyes, they both spotted the Walkers on the nearby green.

"Come on," she stated, barely shedding any concern for the distanced pack of Walkers as she took a few steps ahead towards the country club that wasn't far off. After a few steps, she heard him follow her.

It felt incredibly strange to hold the lead. It was a rare occasion—Daryl was almost always the one of the pair to determine where they were going and where they should go next.

Back at the tree line with Walkers not too far off in the distance, Beth had simply set off to start moving. Despite the fact that his expression seemed to tell her he felt a bit more complacent than he had when last they spoke, he had still said nothing in response to their last conflict; therefore, she really hadn't been certain whether he would choose to follow her or not.

It would appear he had, and had been doing so since they had parted ways with the forest. He very easily could've surpassed her—what with his longer legs and obvious grace, with which he accomplished far more things than he should be able to. And, yet, he had lingered behind her, allowing her to drive their direction.

From her perception of him, this was an odd occurrence indeed. Daryl, despite the fact that he had never been the sole leader of their group, was a leader by nature. Beth believed that if he was anything other than active and contributing, he seemed to feel restless.

But that didn't appear to be the case now, as he followed silently behind her until they finally approached the country club.

Part of her suspected he was somewhat grateful to her. Beth knew beyond a shade of doubt that her desperation to obtain a drink was nothing short of ridiculous to him. But that clearly wasn't all he felt on the matter, or he would've chosen to stay behind. No, she suspected he felt he owed her some form of a debt—for picking them up yet again, for forcing them to carry on.

How many times had she done this now? Just as she had lost track of the days since the prison had fallen, she had managed to lose count of the number of times she found herself saying they needed to get up, close out the camp and carry on—if not under the goal of finding their family, than to continue living, to continue to fight, to continue to persevere.

He may complain when she forced him to keep going—going so far as to feign frustration for a period of time—but she knew, at the end of the day, he appreciated it. Even if he couldn't acknowledge that that was what he was feeling in reaction to her decisions.

For proof, she need only look so far as his expression. She may not have known him intimately, but she was beginning to see that his face—in particular, his eyes—were the key to getting there. He'd reveal things there she had never expected—to the point where she genuinely suspected it may be unintentional, or at least partially so.

When he had met her eyes as they left the forest, she had seen all the evidence she needed reflected there. Yes, he thought this was silly. But he was still here, still standing at her side. For someone who had been so adamantly silent on the issue just a few hours before, he sure did stick close now that he was in attendance.

They breached an entrance to the club. The odor of decaying flesh instantly hit her nostrils. Although the smell didn't bother her nearly as much as it had at one time, she believed she would never become complacent with the smell. She didn't think that she really ever wanted to, honestly. To do so would indicate to her that she had lost some inherent part of her personality—a part that, once it was gone, there was no getting it back.

As they made their way through the room, it became obvious to Beth that this had been some form of a camp when the infection had first started to spread. Golfers had gathered here, in the search of social companionship. Whenever they found settings such as this, where bodies of those who had lost their war were casually flung about amongst the materialistic treasures of their previous lives, Beth felt simultaneously sad and hopeful.

Camps such as this indicated clearly that humans were inherently social creatures—they needed companionship more than anything else in the world. They would seek it out at the cost of losing everything; after all, with the confusion she had heard erupted when things had first started going awry, it wouldn't have been inconceivable for people to suspect that any number of the people in this room could fall sick at any moment. It was a risk—a risk that humans, in their thirst to assuage their social demands, couldn't help but take.

But, alternatively, the camps they found that didn't make it, that didn't survive, bothered her, based in her inability to explain what had happened. Everything had obviously not gone according to plan, but why hadn't it? Their group had formed camps and had made it; what had happened that this one hadn't? What were the last few minutes like for these people? What did they think of before they passed? What was most important to them?

It was a story she couldn't know. She wished to give these people their due, appreciate how they spent their final days, hours, minutes. But she couldn't, no matter what she did. There was something about that that made her inherently sad and bothered her.

Daryl mentioned the Walkers hanging from the ceiling as she proceeded to scavenge through the materials still remaining in the country club. The trinkets she found here were unique and interesting, once again prompting her to wonder why these people had chosen to make their last stand here, of all places.

Her eyes were drawn to the clothing racks as she felt an excited breath leave her. She honestly could not remember the last time she had been able to find a change of clothes; what she had on her back was the very thing she had been wearing when the Governor had come for his not-so friendly chat. It would be a relief to relieve herself of at least a superficial reminder of their loss.

Beth spared one glance to make sure Daryl's eyes were elsewhere before she slipped into a yellow polo and white sweater that felt heavenly clean. There was, of course, a layer of dust on them. But there were no guts or grime or dust from the battlefield that was the prison yard; for that alone she was grateful.

Clanging sounds drew her attention and caused her to approach Daryl's crouched position, her hand lingering towards her knife, just as a precaution. When she found him eagerly collecting money and jewelry, she was almost at a loss of words. Daryl had never been one to waste his time or energy on endeavors that weren't beneficial to him or their family. Money and gaudy jewelry—two items that held absolutely no value in this world—were beneficial to neither.

"Why are you keeping all that stuff?" she ventured once she had found her words. At first, he merely continued scooping up as much as he could get his hands on. But her words seem to register after a few more seconds as he came to a hesitant stillness and met her eyes slowly.

He said nothing, affording her absolutely no explanation for his behavior as he chose instead to get to his feet and continue searching the room. His silence bothered her more than she would care to admit. No matter what she said, no matter how sensitive she was as to how she worded questions, he held stubbornly adamant that he wouldn't provide her any insights.

Fortunately, his eyes told her a bit that his mouth wouldn't. Combined with his actions, they could almost fill in some of the blanks in regards to his past. It was obvious from his eager attempts to clutch as many of the once priceless valuables as he could that his life with Merle was anything but lavish. She had always suspected as much; but his state, so near to salivating at the sight of so many valuables, had her wondering if she had perhaps underestimated how rough his life had been prior to the end of the world.

She forced herself to focus as the sounds of Walkers banging on their front doors prompted them to travel deeper into the country club. Light became an issue, as they did their best to see by meager flashlights. In a supply closet, she managed to salvage some form of alcohol, and she was relieved that this mission hadn't been for nothing. She struggled to see what exactly it was as she turned to enter the hallway that would lead her back towards Daryl.

When Beth would contemplate the defining characteristics of Walkers, the word _fast_ was never necessarily her first inclination. Regardless, this one had managed to get the jump on her, as it emerged mysteriously from some side room to lunge at her, teeth open and chomping at the bit to bite into her flesh. Her breathing became erratic, but she did her best to keep her cool, despite the fear that was pressing along her spine.

She attempted to reach for her knife and panicked a bit once she realized she couldn't get to it in the position she was pinned in. Out of instinct, her arms began to flail to relieve the pressure the Walker was placing on her body. The weight of the bottle of alcohol in her hand sharply returned to her, forcing her to chastise herself for taking this long to think of deploying that as her weapon of choice.

One blow was not enough; a problem she had not anticipated but should have, due to the inconsiderable amount of strength she had in her possession. After a moment of gathering herself and cringing at the sight of the Walker regrouping with teeth pointed interestedly in her direction, she repeated the action.

Two. Three. Four.

Finally the Walker was shaken enough to release its hold on her. She extracted her knife quickly, hoping that she wouldn't lose her opportune moment. One stab was all it took. The Walker was finally down.

She looked up and spotted a variation of that mysterious look on Daryl's face once more—the very one she had seen briefly after her decision to use the rock to mislead the approaching Walkers in the woods. Just as it had on the first occasion, it disappeared quicker than it had even come to his face to begin with, to be replaced with a concentrated amount of frustration that could almost rival what she had been subjected to ever since they had exited that trunk.

"Thanks for the help," she muttered sarcastically, very displeased at the prospect at dealing once more with a disgusted Daryl—a Daryl who didn't even bother to lend her a helping hand..

"You said you could take care of yourself. Ya did," he stated as he turned to head further into the country club.

She fell into pace behind him as her mind wandered to what he had said. She felt very conflicted at his declaration. It had always been the practice in their family—even all the way back to the days on the farm, when they had all barely known each other—that they took care of their own.

If there was one Walker and two people, it was expected that both would work together to fight off the dead, no matter the skill level of the people involved. Daryl's claims that he hadn't helped her simply because she said she didn't need it angered her further—it just wasn't the way things were done with them; it didn't sit well with her.

But, after she was able to move past her initial anger at the dismissive nature of his response, she could see what he was doing. The timing and appearance of that repeated expression told her everything she needed to know. He had been testing her yet again—waiting to see if she could hold her own in a fight. Obviously she had passed—a fact she could admit even she was surprised by.

The last time that expression appeared on his face, it had held almost a hint of surprise—as if she had managed to impress him. This time, however, he seemed to have none of that; if anything, it looked mildly bored and expectant.

Had he released that statement with his previous expression—the variation that seemed to indicate that he was not only surprised, but impressed by her success—she could've perhaps thought he had known she would be fine, that she would triumph over the Walker, and, from there, was merely seeking to reaffirm what she had said but didn't even necessarily completely believe herself.

As it were, he had not; he'd said it with that look of casual disinterest that seemed to be stuck on his face from overuse. That implied reassurance wasn't his priority, which led testing her abilities as her only option.

If that were the case—and she didn't see how it could be otherwise—Beth was quite happy she had been somewhat rude and sarcastic when he had found her. It was not generally in her nature to be like that; it was the result of only extreme measures, such as the situation they found themselves in. However, if he was truly willing to risk her life just for some silly game or test, a stand needed to be made. And she felt confident that was precisely the ends her words had met.

They continued on, once more in the depths of silence as they made their way through small crawl spaces to travel further into the country club. After the loss of the last bottle of liquor she had discovered, she knew the bar was their only remaining hope. Daryl obviously knew this as well, as he led them forward without shedding one word in her direction. With every new room, they separated briefly to see what could be salvaged.

Often they found very little. Until Daryl found _her_. When Beth stumbled upon him, in his seated position with his eyes fixed on something directly ahead of him, she noticed a distinct sadness and distance to his eyes, before she even looked to see what had prompted the emotions. When she followed his eye line, what she found had been perhaps the very last thing she had expected.

Beth immediately approached the long dead corpse, which had been strung up with a sign pinned to her that labeled her as "Rich Bitch." It was true that the woman had quite a bit of ostentatious clothing and jewelry on, but that was in no way an adequate reason to disrespect the dead. It made her stomach churn to think about who could've done this.

"Help me take her down," she said as she moved the woman's sweater so that her skeleton was shielded a bit more from the view of the public.

"It doesn't matter," Daryl's voice drew her attention away from her attempts to lift the woman off her post on a closet door. She found his eyes watching her intently; it was a struggle to read them, which disconcerted her endlessly. "It's dead."

"It _does_ matter," she insisted as she held his gaze. Beth knew he undoubtedly would yell at her—say she was being naïve, ridiculous. In a world where the dead return to walk the Earth, what point was there in acknowledging those who hadn't been strong enough to make it to this point?

But Beth just couldn't believe in that. Every person did matter, especially those who hadn't survived to be alive today. Out there somewhere in this twisted world, this woman may have some family left. How would they feel if they found their loved one defaced like this? How would Beth have felt if someone had done something similar to her daddy? The very thought prompted a pain to bolt up her side.

She watched him and waited for his response. He still held that beguiling expression that seemed to be a mix between intrigue and disgust. She was never sure which emotion would win out.

"Here," he said as he stood and placed a blanket over the woman, covering her completely.

It may not have been exactly what she had in mind, but it was at least something, some form of privacy and respect for the deceased. She nodded to him once to signal her appreciation and, after looking up to receive it, he adamantly evaded her eyes for their next few minutes of navigation through the country club.

As soon as the clock struck, she suspected they were in trouble. They laughed it off readily enough, but there was no denying that a sound such as that would draw all the Walkers in the building to them.

She was not wrong, as a whole pack followed them through the narrow hallways of the club. When they found a room, she set to seeking out a weapon or an exit for both of them, while Daryl turned to prepare for the pack headed their way. Beth caught the smallest glare headed in her direction, as if he were resisting a strong urge to blame her for putting them in this position.

Panic began to invade as she looked around the room for any form of a more powerful weapon than her knife; or, better yet, some means of escape. She bit her lip as she internally acknowledged that if they died here, in pursuit of her own ambitions, it would undoubtedly be her fault.

Her confidence didn't waver though. She knew, between the two of them, they would find a way out of this situation.

In the time it had taken her to unsuccessfully scan the room, Daryl had already taken out half the Walkers that had been on their heels. His actions and the sharp sense of violence quickly drew in every bit of her attention.

Within moments, he'd dwindled the group down to a final Walker. As Daryl took far too many unnecessary swings of a golf club to its body instead of its head, Beth couldn't help but draw in a breath of surprise. Body shots did no good—they were just unnecessary cruelty, particularly when dealt out with the aggression he was displaying.

Over the time they had spent together, she had accepted his need to destroy as a means of dealing with what had happened to them, to their family. But she had never seen it put to quite this scale.

It confirmed for her what she already knew; he was hurting now more than ever. Reaching out to him would be the only way to help him deal with these issues before they were allowed to do further damage than they had already done. Typically, she would follow to physically reach out to him. But she had seen his recoiling at the contact from Carol. She shuttered to think how he'd react to similar instigations from her—someone he obviously didn't care for nearly as affectionately as he did for Carol.

When he finally issued the fatal blow to the head, the brains splattered all over the shirt she had put on less than an hour previously. His eyes came to meet hers and she actively worked to make sure she held his gaze. Beth held her chin up, hoping to express that he didn't intimidate her—that she didn't fear him. She was worried for him, certainly, but she refused to push him away simply because he had a habit of going temporarily over the edge. Pushing away was his coping mechanism, not hers.

In response, she was rewarded with what she could almost interpret as an apologetic expression. Seeing that he clearly felt remorse for at least some facet of his actions, she moved past the instance and quickly stripped off her white sweater, leaving her with the dirty, yet still considerably cleaner yellow shirt.

The rueful look left, replaced once again with a scowl. Beth turned to proceed further, still hopeful they could find what they had come for.

After quite a bit of more time spent searching the club, they rounded a final corner that provided Beth a glimpse of the bar.

"We made it," she said barely above a whisper. When she turned to look at Daryl, she was unsurprised to see him looking simultaneously angry and confused—almost as if she were speaking a foreign language that was just beyond his reach.

"I know you think this is stupid. And it probably is," she conceded, as she looked away from him, but only for a second. "But I don't care. All I wanted to do today was lay down and cry," she said as she thought yet again of her father and their missing family.

For the smallest moment, he looked even more shocked, almost as if the idea of her faith in the survival of their family wavering seemed impossible to him, despite how much hassle he had given her on the topic. "But we don't get to do that," she reaffirmed, holding her chin even higher. "So…beat up on Walkers, if that makes you feel better. I need to do _this_."

His expression still indicated that her words were nothing but foreign to him. But she had noticed that his features had lightened just a touch, almost as if her equating her search for this seemingly unnecessary drink to his need to unnecessarily torture any creature they stumbled upon had opened his eyes a bit. With any hope, they could put this issue behind them for a bit of time.

As Beth turned to enter the bar area, she hoped her clarification and the example she had set of opening up could be returned from him in the near future. It had been tough for her to admit that she had some insecurities of her own, but she had done it. Her daddy had always taught her that to get a little, you had to give a little first.

She immediately made her way towards the bar and found precisely one body and one remaining bottle—Peach Schnapps. The name sounded familiar, but she had nothing else to go on. It didn't matter, she decided. She just needed to do this.

Beth took one of the chairs and starting looking through the various cups and glasses on top of the bar. All were covered in dust and most had blood dried and coated on some part of their surface. She attempted to clean a few before realizing they had become lost causes long before she had come to this bar.

The sound of the shattering glass to her right didn't startle her nearly as much as it may have at one time. Daryl reached in to extract some form of an important piece of paper from the frame. What importance it could possibly hold to him, she hadn't the slightest clue. But she knew that was not his purpose.

"Did you have to break the glass?" she asked, unable to check her compulsion to chastise him just a bit.

"No," he responded, but with no malice in his tone for a change. "Did ya have your drink yet?"

"No. But I found this. Peach Schnapps. Is it good?" she asked as he moved past her but refused to meet her eyes.

"No."

"Well," she began with a sigh, doing her best to refuse the impulse to let his short answers frustrate her. "It's the only thing left."

When he commenced throwing darts at random pictures on the wall, she forced herself to turn away and succeeded in checking her tongue this time. "Who needs a glass?" she asked herself as she eyed the bottle as a means of distraction.

But Daryl was no longer the only thing plaguing her mind. Flashes of her daddy had suddenly hit her like a ton of bricks. She knew that part of her motivation for this action laid in pursuit of some closure from losing him.

But, suddenly, when finally presented with the opportunity to achieve what she thought would be such a relief, such a banner moment in her path to survival in this world, she couldn't bring herself to do it. Her father's presence hit her so strongly that she felt a round of tears crash down upon her, despite her every effort to restrain them.

Even through her melancholy, she attempted to prepare herself for a scathing remark from Daryl. Going through the country club had been anything but safe. It had been done under the pretense that she would take her first drink when the opportunity presented itself.

Now, in all her crying state, she could only tick down the moments before he drew attention to it. She wouldn't blame him in the least for it—all that danger, all that fighting, only for her to find more tears at the bottom of a blood splattered glass.

The vision out of the corner of her eyes was blurred from the tears making their way down her cheeks. The sound of darts hitting the wall continued to meet her ears, but there was more time in between each strike than she had previously noted, prompting her to try to see through her tears in the hopes of seeing what he was filling the in between time with.

He kept alternating his glance between her and the target of his darts. Was he embarrassed by her crying? Outraged? Understanding? After the interlude that had served as a precursor before they took the bar, she really had no idea what to expect, even as the tears and the thoughts of her daddy began to recede.

Suddenly Daryl was directly in front of her, grabbing the bottle out of her hand and shattering it on the floor. His expression was perhaps a bit snide, but not malicious or cruel.

"Ain't gonna have your first drink. And it ain't gonna be no damn Peach Schnapps!"

His words surprised her, to the point that for the first time since the fall of the prison, when he moved forward, she didn't automatically follow him. The shock was too large, had dished out too big of a surprise for her cognitive faculties to remain fully functioning.

"Come on," he urged as he pushed the door open, once again with notable excessive force. His voice focused her, forced her to rise to her feet and follow him outside, still baffled as to what had happened.


	9. Intimacy Part III

**This is, by far, the longest chapter thus far. Close to almost twice the size of the current largest chapter :-)**

**Big chapter here, and not just in measure of length. Hope you enjoy!**

They had spent the majority of the walk from the Golf Course in silence, but Daryl didn't think it seemed to hold the tension it had earlier in the day.

Part of Daryl knew that was mostly on him. What she had said kept playing over in his mind. She wanted to cry; sure, that could just be her saying that she missed her old man. But, in the back of his mind, the way she had looked away, just for a second—it made him wonder if she wasn't trying to tell him that he isn't alone, that she worries that their family may be gone too.

If that was the case, her revealing that she wasn't as immune to doubt as she had seemed to be made her strangely less irritating to him. While he still felt like she was speaking Chinese just about every time she opened her mouth, it did ease his hostility towards her, if only a little bit.

"I wonder who Maggie made it out with."

He noticed she didn't ask if she had made it out, but who she had made it out with. Her blind faith astounded him. Sure, she had had a low moment at the golf course. But now she seemed to be pushing forward. He would've minded, except it gave them something to do, something to distract himself.

"I suppose it would be too much to hope she's with Glenn. I know she would go mad if she wasn't with him."

Daryl settled for nodding. It was no secret that those two were damn near close to dependent on each other. What he did find interesting was the lack of anger or tension in her tone—she seemed to accept that her sister had someone else in mind for the number one slot in her life.

"I'm sure, even if she didn't get out—with him, that is—she'll find him. If he's out there—_wherever_ he is out there, she'll stop at nothing to look for him."

The sudden shyness in her voice tugged at his stomach; he couldn't resist contributing anymore, out of sheer curiosity alone.

"Ya don't think she'd come lookin' fer you?"

Daryl trained his eyes on the forest floor, but he could still see her nod out of the corner of his eyes. "Maybe. She probably thought I was on the bus, since that was where I last saw her. If that had been the case, it seems pretty likely that I'd make it out and live to tell the tale. If anyone is safe, it's the people who were smart enough to stay on there."

"Then she'd be lookin' for ya."

Despite not wanting to, he saw her tilt her head slightly downward. She didn't look troubled, but she sure as hell didn't look right as rain neither.

"She'd go for Glenn first."

The certainty in her voice surprised him. But, again, there was no anger there. How did she do it, he wondered. If he were in her position, and Merle had chosen some broad over him, there'd be one hell of a mess after the fact.

Not _if_, he thought, as he remembered the countless number of times Merle had done just that—left him behind in favor of some chick. He sure as hell didn't get the clap from his right hand.

"Not that I blame her." Beth's voice shook him from his thoughts. "She obviously cares very deeply for him. You've got to cherish something like that in a world like this."

Daryl resisted the urge to slap himself in the forehead. "And family means what? Nothin'?" He met her eyes finally as he heard that biting quality return a bit to his voice.

"It's not that," she responded as she looked away and back down to watch where her feet were stepping on the somewhat rough terrain of the forest floor. "Really, Glenn is family too, when you think about it."

"So what would'a you done? Zack or Maggie?" The question was out of his mouth before he could even think to not ask it. But, now that it was out in the open, he couldn't deny that he was curious to hear her answer.

She didn't seem offended as she continued to stare at the ground. It confused him how certain things would immediately instigate an argument from her, but others didn't seem to incite any fight out of her.

"Maggie, of course. But, to be fair, her bond with Glenn is much stronger than mine was to Zack. For starters, they've just known each other so much longer, seen so many things together." She paused and moved her chin up to face his eyes. Again he seemed incapable of telling himself to look away. "I cared for him, obviously. But not in the way Maggie cares for Glenn."

They fell back into silence again as he struggled to make sense of her words. He felt like she was trying to tell him something, but he just couldn't put his finger on what.

"What about you?" she asked with a small smile coming back to her face.

"What 'bout me what?" he did his best to grumble as he looked away under the pretense of needing to hop over possibly the smallest intruding log he had ever laid eyes on.

She actually released a small chuckle at his question. "If you had to choose. If Merle were still alive—" she paused, almost as if she expected him to snap at her. Normally, he would've, but he was too intrigued by where she was taking this to follow usual protocol. "Who would you choose?"

"Him against who?" Why was he playing this game? He wish he knew what it was about her that seemed to make his mouth open and say things he never would've otherwise.

He watched her again out of the corner of his eyes. She lifted her head and looked up to the tops of the trees, as if she were trying to decide who to ask about. Against his better judgment, he found his head turning to look at her while she did her thinking.

"I know!" she exclaimed, as if she just invented the damn wheel. Beth turned to look at him, her smile was still small by her usual standards, but she appeared to be interested to see how things would play out. Daryl immediately regretted indulging her. "Merle or Carol?"

He looked away and lifted his thumb to his mouth in an effort to check an impulse to release a four-letter word that would earn him nothing but criticism.

Daryl allowed himself to pout in his anger at permitting this game to continue to this point. How could he have forgotten so quickly that she had the potential to be dangerous?

Beyond his control, once the anger subsided a bit, he found his thoughts wandering down that lane, trying to figure out exactly who he would choose. Carol was like a sister to him—nearly the equivalent of Merle in terms of his relationship to her. Only she was much more supportive and understanding. He was a jackass to her—and not necessarily rarely either. But every time she took it, heard him out, let him get out his frustrations and let him take a get outta jail for free card—no discouragement, no criticism, no nothing.

But that was before. Before the attack on the prison. Before he was forced to have the littlest Greene by his side. Before Carol had gone off the deep end. Before she had killed two of their own.

Merle was no winner either. He had always said he only meant to protect Daryl, strengthen him up, make him untouchable. In some ways he had succeeded—hardening his walls and instilling a reflex to keep all others at a distance. Well, others who weren't Merle, that is.

But he had failed too. His back was living proof of that. He hadn't been untouchable to their daddy, had he? Where was Merle then? Either off in Juvie or at a strip club picking up some whore. Getting another round of the clap probably.

"Depends on when you'd'a asked me," he answered with an indifferent shrug. He was getting tired of having her eyes on him, which had been the case since she had asked the question.

"What do you mean?" he voice was soft and her eyes were _still_ on his. Why the hell wouldn't she just look away?!

Daryl sighed. This was getting old. "If you'd'a asked me before we came ta the farm, I'd'a said Merle, hands down. But, when we got there, after Sophia went missing…" he trailed off as he kept his eyes trained on the ground. He hated thinking about that little girl. It still made him feel sick to his stomach. "It changed. And it only got stronger once Rick took out Shane. I always knew he was still alive. But I didn't even go lookin' for him."

"What about after that? When we settled into the prison?"

"You know what I did. Ya know who I chose."

She shook her head and he once again refused to meet her eyes. "But, you didn't. Not really. You came back to _us_."

He heard her emphasize that last word and wondered what exactly she meant to imply there.

"And that wasn't just for Carol's sake," she continued, clarifying for him. "That was for all of us. And for yourself. You knew he wasn't the best person to be around."

"That's what Carol told me," he said with a few small nods. "When I got back. She said he was no good for me and that I was just lettin' him drag me down with him."

He saw her bite her lip out of the corner of his eye. She seemed to do that a lot. What the hell purpose did it have?

"I actually said something similarly to her," she started as she finally looked away from his face to look towards the sky again. It was a relief to have her eyes off of him finally, especially with the words that were coming out of her mouth. "While you were gone, Carol came up to me as I was taking care of—of Judith." She paused and he wondered if it had anything to do with their Little Ass Kicker; he hadn't missed that stutter in her voice. "I hadn't ever met Merle, but I immediately said that I didn't understand why you had chosen to go with him, that he seemed like a jerk."

She stopped and looked back to his face. Once again, as if he had no control over his own neck, his eyes moved to meet hers. "I had never met Merle, of course. It was wrong to judge him. He was your family. Of course you chose him. Just like I said I'd choose Maggie."

Daryl didn't know what to do with this. Carol's words to him had been in the back of his mind since that day—always there to remind him that he had never done wrong by his brother, no matter what Merle may have thought.

But now, to learn that some form of those words might've come from the littlest Greene. It threw him off balance. Beth obviously hadn't gone so far as Carol had in what she had said to him. But there was no way she could—she didn't know Merle, didn't know just how much of a dick he could be.

And even now, she stood here apologizing for judging the most judgmental person to ever survive the end of the world. She had done it before, he remembered. The day he returned, she came into his cell and said that she was actually _glad_ Merle had showed up. Sure, he wasn't a good person. But they could maybe help him, she said—help him become a better person, just as his family had done for him. He had thought it was ridiculous at the time—to the point where he didn't know if he could really trust what she was saying.

But _now_. He still didn't know her well. But he knew her good enough to know that she had believed that with every bone in her body. And damn it if she hadn't been right—Merle had changed in the end. Probably not in the way she meant it, but he had—he'd gone out doing the right thing. Just as she said he was capable of, even when all she had seen and heard of him was the exact opposite.

How did she do it? How did she keep her head so clean? To be able to believe that even lost causes couldn't be given up on.

He hadn't known it. And neither had she. But she had fed the words that would serve as his reassurance in the darkest nights at the prison. That he had become a better person, no matter what his asshole of a brother seemed to say otherwise.

But it wasn't that easy. Nothing was that easy anymore. Sure, he'd become a better person, had a better conscience than his brother—well, _a_ conscience. There wasn't much competition with Merle on that front—but it didn't mean anything, not one damn thing. Because it had taken the fucking end of the world to get him there. To get him to be someone better—someone _good_. Requiring an unstoppable plague to burn through the Earth in no time flat immediately tarnished any and every achievement he had had since then.

Everyone thought he was good. That he was a hero. Someone to be celebrated. If only they knew what he had been before this, just how much he had profited from the world going to shit. They wouldn't be singing his praises then.

Guilt churned in his gut, as it always did when he thought about his life before now. He forced it back down and kept his eyes forward.

"You didn't answer my question," she reminded him. Her voice so soft he barely heard her.

"Neither of 'em," he responded.

"That's cheating," she answered, no temper in her tone. Just intrigue. He couldn't understand why she seemed so curious—he was nothing special.

"Things changed," he said and bit his tongue as he realized he basically did nothing but repeat what he'd said earlier. "Merle came through in the end. Even if I couldn't get to him in time. And Carol…" he trailed off.

Daryl didn't think she knew who had killed Karen and David. But he didn't see much of how it mattered to keep a secret no more.

"Carol just…changed. She wasn't the same after…after the barn. Should'a seen it comin'."

"Seen what coming?" she asked gently. He was almost certain she felt like she was walking through a minefield. Good. She needed to know this would only go to a certain extent.

Daryl slid his eyes up to watch her face as she got the news. He was curious how she'd react. "She was the one who killed Karen and David."

He saw a second of disbelief on her face before some form of recognition won out. "I wish I could say I'm surprised."

She really sounded like she _wished_ she could—like she felt bad for Carol or something.

"You ain't?" he asked, not sure how she could've predicted Carol's reaction to the sickness like that.

"Not really, I guess. Not that I think she's unnecessarily cruel or pathologically angry or vindictive—its nothing like that. Carol's just…she's a survivor. She cared about our family. She would do anything for us. And, to her, if two people were all that stood in the way of securing our safety, if sacrificing the sick could save us all, she'd see that as the only way to go." She stopped, but she didn't seem to be done, so he didn't speak up just yet. Silence was better for him anyway.

"I feel sad for her. It isn't her, you know? It's just the way this world has taken her."

"May not be her, but don't mean it's okay she did it."

She nodded but remained quiet, for a change. He hoped that meant they could stop talking about Carol's choices now. If she continued, he worried that he may have to reveal that that was exactly the reaction he had had when Rick had come to tell him.

"None of that matters no more," he muttered, more to himself than to her as he bit back some more of his own guilt.

"What doesn't?" she asked and he brought his thumb to his mouth to chew on it. Why hadn't he just kept his damn mouth shut? "How things have changed? How we've changed? The things we've had to do? The people we used to be?"

He nodded once and picked up his pace. Maybe if he left her in the dust for a bit she'd learn she was treading towards no-go territory.

Plan didn't do jackshit, though, as she just walked faster to catch up with him. And now she had another smile on her face. He tried not to roll his eyes.

"A motorcycle mechanic," she started and, against his better judgment, he looked back to her. What the hell was she talking about now? "That's my guess. For what you were doing before everything happened." His only response was to walk even faster. But she was insistent. "Did Zack ever guess that one?"

"Don't matter," he said, repeating himself to emphasize how much it really didn't. "Hasn't mattered for a long time."

"It's just what people talk about, you know? To feel normal." She finished with a bit of a shrug.

But it wasn't normal. Things hadn't been normal for a very long time. And even when they were normal, they hadn't been for him. What was the point of people clinging to a world that was completely gone? And he had even less to cling to. No one in their right mind would want the life he had before this.

"Yeah, but it never felt normal to me."

:::~:::

Beth had told Daryl that she had expected a liquor store. While that had been true, what was sitting in front of her hadn't even appeared as a blip on her radar as a possibility. The dwelling, if it could even really be called that, was a trailer that looked as if it was barely still standing. Attached to the side was a shack that had obviously served as a secondary addition to the house.

She followed as he led the way forward towards the shack. When they reach the door, he easily lifted a crate out with a series of clear mason jars inside of it. With an actual smile on his face, he announced that it was moonshine, handed the container to her and brushed past her.

The expression was so abnormal for his face that she felt herself automatically blush in response. It was such an oddity to see him smile that she couldn't not smile in return, even if his quick moves to brush past her meant it was directed at the angel wings on the back of his vest. She followed him up the steps and into the actual house, although it looked little better than the glimpse of the shack she had gotten outside.

The crate was placed on some lawn furniture that appeared to serve as the dining room table, just outside the kitchen. Beth took a seat as Daryl fetched a glass and poured some of the clear liquid from the Mason jar for her.

"Now there's a real first drink, right there." When she looked up to meet his eyes, she was shocked to see that there was a smirk overtaking his face. She hadn't seen that expression since they had left the prison—even then it had been a rarity, if she were to be honest, and it had certainly never previously been directed towards her.

But it would appear his good mood wasn't necessarily infectious, as she brought her eyes down to rest on the moonshine. "What's a'matter?"

Daryl's voice demanded her attention once more as she allowed her eyes to return to his. "Nothin'," she started, groaning a bit internally at the uninhibited southern twang that seemed inevitable around his redneck dialect. "Daddy always just told me that bad moonshine could make you go blind."

He hesitated to answer for a second, she noticed, as his eyes just watched her. The smile had dropped from his face as it grew to look a little rougher than it had earlier. The loss of his smile pulled on her, tightening her throat. "Ain't nothin' out there worth seein' anymore anyways."

A wave of sadness swept over her at his statement. The words were sad, his tone was sad, but not all hope was lost. Sad was a significant improvement on anger or aggression, which is what he would've undeniably said those words with even a few hours ago. Mad meant denial and shutting down. Sad showed potential—a progression towards opening up.

If she was careful and clever, she could maybe create a connection, get him communicating. If she could get to know him more intimately, she might finally be able to formulate a breakthrough. But she had to proceed cautiously; if she pushed too far he could clamp shut and they'd be set back to step one. Even further than step one, if that was possible.

Buying herself some time, she looked down to the moonshine that Daryl had poured for her. She felt the prickle of tears coming towards her eyes again, but she shut it down. If she had any hope of getting Daryl to open up, she needed to make this about his losses, not solely hers. Not yet anyway.

She resolved to take her first sip and not think or overanalyze any further. The taste immediately prompted a crinkling of her nose; but it worked as, it distinctly distracted her from lingering thoughts about her daddy. "That's the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted."

Daryl's keen look of disapproval had her lifting the jar to her lips once again. "Second round's better," she said as she felt a smile ease its way onto her face without explicit permission from her.

She cast one more glance in his direction before she found another glass and started to pour. "Whoa," he said. His voice almost surprised her, but she kept pouring. "Slow down."

"This one's for you." She still felt that smile on her face.

"Nah, I'm good," he answered, his tone a touch too indifferent to suit her. As a result, her smile dropped instantly.

"Why?" she asked, looking up with the intention of attempting to demand he meet her eyes, only to discover he was already watching her.

"Someone's gotta keep watch," he said.

Beth felt her shoulders slump forward, disappointed in his response. It would appear their time together since the fall of the prison had done very little to prove that she wasn't a child, wasn't a porcelain doll meant to be cradled carefully. Her throat tightened as she realized she might always be seen that way. There was just something fundamentally about her that screamed fragility, she supposed.

But there was more to this than her own insecurities. She could see something there, on edge just below the surface of Daryl's expression. He was clearly frustrated over something—when hadn't he been lately?—but it didn't appear to be any of the usual haunts, namely their family, the loss of the prison, and the man who had rained destruction down upon them all. He seemed almost…_uncomfortable_. And that was so unlike Daryl. He was always confident—never arrogant, but assured.

"So, what? You're like my chaperone now?" she asked, hoping to prod a bit more of a response out of him than his usual taciturn glum.

"Just drink lots of water."

She felt her shoulders slump further, as he denied her previously playful and somewhat edgy tone. Beth couldn't explain it, but she was almost disappointed he had denied her request. "Yes, Mr. Dixon," she settled on as her response, hoping her spirit might become infectious to him after all. Frankly, she was finding it hard to resist the request her lips kept making for a smile.

Beth continued to sip as she got up to pace the room. What she found was enough to demand her full attention, as she sat on the ground to pull out a huge ashtray in the shape of a pick bra. "Who would go into a store and walk out with this?" she asked, unable to resist the urge to laugh any longer. She held the ugly piece up for Daryl's viewing pleasure and instantly drew in his attention from his preliminary glances outside.

"My dad, that's who." Her smile dropped instantly, fearful that she had insulted him or his father. "Oh, he was a dumbass," Daryl continued, assuring her that Daryl's taste in décor didn't match his father's. Relief washed over her, but only briefly. She placed the ashtray back on the floor and leaned in slightly, eager to drink up every word he was willing to offer her. "Set those up on the TV set. Use 'em as target practice."

Beth felt herself draw in a quick breath at his words. "He shot things inside your house?"

"Was just a bunch of junk, anyway," Daryl responded. His tone seemed to indicate that he was indifferent on the subject, but the fact that he refused to meet her eyes and instead set to scanning the entire room told her more than his tone could any day. Perhaps she was getting to know him more intimately than she had previously thought…

"That's how I knew what this place was," Daryl started again and Beth's attention was immediately sharply focused. "That shed out there? My dad had a place just like this." He stopped briefly and took another look around the room. Pointing in the direction of the chair next to her, he began, "You got your dumpster chair. Your drawers for all the summer drinking. Your fancy buckets—that's for spittin' cha in, when your old lady tells ya to stop smokin'." As he went along, he pointed at various aspects and listed them off quite easily. There wasn't necessarily any malice in his voice, but there was a distinct edge. And, for a change, she didn't think it was directed towards her.

"You got your Internet," he finished as he clutched at a nearby newspaper. She bit her lip to keep from laughing at the last comment, because she knew she needed to appreciate this moment. Beth may not be an authority on Daryl, but she knew that he very rarely shared this much with anybody—including Carol. This was revolutionary, for him. Or, at least _she _thought it was.

But the _words_. The things he was saying. The life he was describing. She had always known he had had it tough. The hardened quality she had seen from both Merle and Daryl told her quite a bit about the environment they had grown up in. She had always expected it to be vastly different from her life on the farm. But even she hadn't contemplated that it could've been this drastic.

Silence settled as they both separately realized just how much he had shared. He didn't necessarily look frightened by his confession—or at least she didn't think he did. It was more of a surprise in himself. She hoped it was surprise. Frightened would result in more closing off, and she wanted the exact opposite.

A sudden noise shook them both from the silence. A Walker. She'd know the sound anywhere.

"Just one of 'em," he said quickly. Beth hadn't even seen him move back towards the window. Her alcohol-addled brain casually commented that he moved like a cat.

"Shouldn't we get it?" she asked, worry pressing in on her, forcing her brain to regain its focus.

He nodded slightly, still looking out presumably towards the Walker. "If it keeps making too much noise, yeah."

With a smile, she realized what his words were telling her, whether he intended them to or not. "Well, if we're gonna be trapped again, we might as well make the best of it," she said as she looked towards the glass she had poured for him. "Unless," she began, a full smile on her face once more as he met her eyes. "You're too busy chaperoning, Mr. Dixon."

He watched her for a long moment. It was probably mere seconds but it seemed to stretch for all of eternity in the quiet of their moonshine shack. Daryl seemed to be studying her, studying the situation—as if this was one of the biggest decisions he had ever made. His confusion, in turn, confused her. This was a simple proposition, wasn't it? It was an opportunity to relax for a change. How could he possibly want to fight so hard against that?

Beth kept her fingers metaphorically crossed as she awaited his response. She hoped he would say yes; he had already started to open up to her and, from what she had heard, alcohol could only help that process along.

"Hell, might as well make the best'a it," he responded as he grabbed a jar of moonshine and sat in what he had referred to as the dumpster chair that was placed right next to her. Beth snuck one tiny glance in his direction as he opened the jar and took a sip, her smile bare and unobstructed.

"Home sweet home," he finished and she felt her smile only widen as she set her eyes resolutely towards her glass.

:::~:::

"We should play a game," she said as her smile grew to overtake her face. The silence had pressed down upon them far enough in just a few meager moments. She wanted to get him talking, and she knew just how to do it.

He didn't make it easy, though, as he continued to sit in his dumpster chair and watch her thoughtfully. Beth moved over to what she supposed could be loosely referred to as the coffee table, glass of moonshine still in hand.

With her head she indicated that he should join her. After a few more moments spent watching her inquisitively, he slid silently from his chair and joined her at the table.

"It's called I Never. You heard of it?" she asked, biting her lip to keep her smile under control. She was definitely feeling the effects of the moonshine. It made her a little more brash than she may have been normally.

Daryl didn't speak, merely shook his head no in response. She watched him as he brought his thumb up to linger by his lips. It was a habit of his that she associated to his nervousness—although, she was willing to bet Daryl would cringe if he heard her refer to him as such.

For a change, his eyes seemed unwilling to leave her. Her surprise showed on her face briefly as she did her best to not be bothered by his scrutiny. "So, first," she began as she looked towards her glass. "I say something I've never done. And if you have done it, you drink. And if you haven't, I drink. Then we switch." She brought her eyes back up to meet his and was surprised to find that he was still looking at her. "You really don't know this game?"

"I ain't never needed a game to get lit before."

Her brain was suddenly flushed with confusion. "Wait," she started, her smile dropping slighty. "Are we startin'?"

His eyes roamed over her face for a few more seconds before he answered. It was so strange—usually he'd avoid eye contact at all cost. What had changed?

"How do you know this game?"

Daryl's hand released his face as it moved forward to point at her a bit. It occurred to her that he seemed to think she was lying about never consuming alcohol before tonight. She held a steady stare, refusing to allow his mistrust and general wariness to get to her.

"My friends played. I watched," she answered. Even she cringed at the slight shake in her voice. She had always been so obedient; she would've never drank alcohol, on the sheer fact that her daddy had told her just how damaging it could be.

Shaking off her own discomfort and insecurities from the past, she pushed forward. "Okay, I'll start. I've never…shot a crossbow." She issued the request with a small smile, knowing he would have to drink.

"Ain't much of a game," he said as he picked up the jar and took a swig. Beth bit her lip to hide her excitement that he actually seemed to be participating. She knew he must find this to be ridiculous, but he was still choosing to play, and that was more than she could've asked for.

"That was a warm up!" she defended. "Now you go."

"Umm…" he muttered as he finally looked away from her. "I don't know."

"Just say the first thing that pops into your head!" she coached as his eyes slid back to her.

Beth watched him pause as he thought. Biting her lip again, she did her best to not get her hopes up too high. He appeared to be thinking on it, but that didn't guarantee she'd get him to share just yet.

"I ain't never been outta Georgia."

She smiled. It wasn't a confessional, but it was certainly a start. "Really?" she asked with a shrug as she moved to lift her glass. "Okay. Good one. I've never been drunk and did something I regretted."

Watching him closely, she waited to see if his fingers would tighten on his glass. They did, only serving to intrigue her further. What exactly had he done? But to ask that would be to push things too far. As of now, anyway.

"I've done a lot of things," he said in response as his expression pulled to tighten a bit, causing her to question exactly what her expression may have looked like in that moment. Beth released a light laugh in the hopes that she wouldn't lose him.

"Your turn," she reminded when he failed to speak up.

Daryl looked away from her again and she got the sense that he may actually be putting some thought into this. A rush of enthusiasm came over her at the thought.

"I never been on vacation."

This was her chance. She knew it. Continuing her grip on her glass, she held it still, not quite ready to submit and take her drink just yet.

"What about camping?" she asked quickly, hoping he wouldn't notice.

He shook his head slightly. "No, that was just something I had ta learn—to hunt."

Perfect, she thought. An opportunity to breach the topic of his father. His dissection of their current dwelling earlier had left little doubt in her mind as to the relationship the two had shared. She may not know concrete details, but she somehow inherently knew, just from his tone, that it had been anything other than good.

That just bothered her for some reason. She loved her daddy. Missed him more than she had thought it was possible to miss anyone in the entire world. The fact that Daryl hadn't been privileged to a similar situation made her heart ache for him. This was her chance—an opportunity to reaffirm some good memories there and feel out any bad perceptions he may have. It was now or never.

"Your dad teach you?"

"Hmm-mmm."

Beth was a little dissatisfied with his grumble in response; it sent the clear message that he just wasn't quite ready to go there yet.

"Okay," she said lightly as she released her smile once more. That topic may be paused for now, but it was certainly far from stopped altogether. She hesitated as she thought what to ask him in return. Her daddy's lingering presence in the back of her mind could only be combined in one way in regards to her perception of Daryl.

"I've never been in jail," she said lightly as she fiddled with her glass. "I mean, as a prisoner," she clarified as her thoughts trudged towards their long gone home once more. Regardless of the wandering of her thoughts, her smile continued to shine, as she eagerly awaited a response.

She wasn't sure why she had thought to say that. Perhaps it was the ease with which he moved about the prison. And, yet, he was simultaneously uncomfortable there as well. She remembered that he had spent their first night on the lookout deck, refusing to sleep in some _cage_. Without Beth consenting for it to be so, she realized her thoughts had wandered once or twice to find some hidden meaning in that declaration.

Really, she just wanted to know what he was like before all of this. There was no malice in her asking it. She really only wanted to turn the conversation in a direction that could meet those ends.

When she forced her eyes to focus on his face—a task that was becoming slightly more difficult with every sip she took—she realized something had gone dreadfully wrong. His entire expression had dropped. While he hadn't necessarily looked like he'd been having a romp of a time at the county fair before, he had at least looked content, inquisitive. Now he looked disappointed and…_hurt_.

It took Beth a few extra seconds to verify that last emotion—after all, Daryl Dixon never got hurt by nothing. But she was certain that's what it was.

"That's what you think of me?"

There was no anger in his voice. That was perhaps the most terrifying part. If he was angry, that would've given her some sign, a sign they had retrieved to step one—the first step they took off the yard of the prison, but a step nonetheless. This cold distance implied there might have been more damage done than could be rectified.

"I didn't mean anything serious," she said as she kept her smile in place, hoping he would realize what she meant. "I just meant something like…" she trailed off as she recalled what had brought her to this line of thinking to begin with. "The drunk tank. Even my dad got locked up for that, back in the day."

"Drink up," he said. His tone had an edge to it, but he seemed to be okay for the moment being.

She felt oddly encouraged. Despite the strange quality his expression still held, he had answered her, and it had confirmed that he had never been in jail.

_Keep going_, she urged herself. The alcohol had its grip on her brain. She could feel it clear as day. "Wait," she started, pausing to build her gumption. "Prison guard. Were you a prison guard before?"

He hesitated for a moment, and Beth felt for certain he would find some way to avoid answering.

"No," he said.

His face was still obviously strained, but she hadn't missed that he had actually answered the question. Between her and Zack, they had often speculated what Daryl had done before all of this. As far as she knew, he had never given anyone an answer. He would just laugh off, avoid the question, or, worse yet, become defensive. As far as she knew, not even Carol knew what Daryl's life was like prior to the world ending.

And yet, here she sat. With an answer. It was a no, of course. But it was a definitive answer and not muttered in sarcasm. It, combined with the alcohol, encouraged her.

"It's your turn again," she insisted, her face still curious as she watched him.

He continued to watch her, and, as she was forced to do the same, she realized something had gone terribly wrong again. She had thought the issue over the prisoner assumption had been sidestepped, but now she wasn't as certain.

"I gotta take a piss," he murmured as he grabbed his moonshine jar and trampled over to the makeshift kitchen. In his approach he dropped the bottle and the glass shattered loudly, prompting the Walker from outside to thump again for the first time in a long time.

"You have to be quiet!" she whispered urgently, doing her best to hide her blush as she heard his zipper lower. Was he really going to do that here? In the kitchen? With her mere feet away?

The sounds confirmed that that was certainly the case. She swallowed and attempted to focus herself; it was much easier now, as the sharpness of the situation saddled the alcohol slightly.

"I can't hear you, I'm takin' a piss!" He yelled the words and Beth immediately glanced worriedly in the direction of the Walker.

"Daryl," she continued to whisper, despite the fact that his tone was already doing plenty of damage. "Don't talk so loud."

"What, you my chaperone now?" His zipper was slid back into place as he looked at her over his shoulder. "Oh, wait," he started, his voice thick with the edge of sarcasm. She could see that he was working his way around to anger and Beth instantly regretted her lament at its absence from moments before. "It's my turn, right? I never…ah. Never eaten frozen yogurt. Never had a pet pony. Never got nothing from Santa Claus!"

His voice was getting progressively louder, but she no longer cared about that. Daryl had perhaps never said this much to her in the entire time they had known each other. And she now understood why, as every word that came out of his mouth broke her heart bit by bit.

"Never relied on anyone for protection before!" he continued, pointing accusingly at her. "Hell, I never relied on anyone for anything!"

The guilt was chocking her, making its way up her throat. How could she have been so stupid? Why did she push so far?

"Daryl—" she started and she could hear the apologetic quality of her voice even in her own ears.

"Never sung out in front of a big group in public," he continued. Her eyes locked on his and she just couldn't look away. What she saw there confirmed what she suspected—anger may have been present, but it was hurt that reigned supreme. "Like everything was fun. Like everything was a big game." He paused again, but only for a moment. His eyes bore into hers and she felt utterly unprepared for what came next. "I sure as hell never cut my wrist lookin' for attention!"

One hand waved over the wrist of the other as he brought his point home. Tears pressed against the backs of her eyes, but she honestly believed she was too shocked to allow them to release.

She regretted pushing him. But not because he had pushed back, not because he had said some hurtful things—no, it would be nothing but utterly selfish to think that way, to find a way of making this about her.

Because, even though he was attacking her, finding ways to make this about her, she knew it wasn't really. Beth had obviously pushed into territory that Daryl protected with every fiber of his being, that he refused to divulge—issues that he hadn't thought on in detail for a long time.

She brought that out in him, she realized. The stark contrast in their lives, in their upbringings. She served as a constant reminder of everything he had always wanted and nothing he had ever gotten.

The guilt nearly had her in a choke hold by this point. She felt truly very sorry for him, although she knew he would hate it if she were to say as much. Pity was one of Daryl Dixon's worst enemies. But that didn't change the fact that his less than stellar upbringing prompted a tenderness in her heart.

But that also didn't mean that she was to be blamed for the fortune that she and her family had been blessed with. Two things were obvious to her at this juncture—first, that Daryl was obviously trying to evade dealing with his own troubles by placing focus on her issues and second, that he was most likely not done yet.

"Ah, sounds like our friend," he called as he kicked some cans and scooped up his crossbow. "Calling all his buddies!

"Daryl, just shut up!" she whispered frantically as she sought to lessen at least one of their pressing concerns.

He was having none of it though, as he pointed directly at her. "You never shot a crossbow before?" Before she could even shake her head to confirm that that was the case, and that she had in fact said so less than twenty minutes previously, he carried on. "I'm gonna teach you right now. Come on! It's gonna be fun."

Suddenly he was next to her, grabbing her arm and tugging her down the steps outside the house.

"We should stay inside," she insisted. He only tugged harder. "Daryl, calm down! Daryl!"

Her words obviously didn't register with him at all, as he eagerly turned towards the Walker instead. "Dumbass!" he called, his tone only growing in volume. "Come here, dumbass!"

Daryl released one arrow and it missed the head, which told Beth it hadn't really missed at all. He never missed with his bow.

"Daryl—" she started, hoping to return some form of normality to this conversation even as he reloaded.

"Ya wanna shoot?" Suddenly he was looking at her again and she was shocked at how cold his eyes were. He was shutting down. Something needed to be done and she found herself wishing for the millionth time that she knew him better so she knew how to approach this situation.

"I don't know how," she insisted, reminding him yet again of earlier.

"Oh, it's easy. Come here," he said casually as he threw an arm around Beth's neck. She swallowed loudly as she felt him pull her flush against him so he could aim over her shoulder. "Left corner."

Beth had never really been this close to someone before. People often forgot she was even there, let alone trying to invade her personal space. She didn't know why, but his sudden aggression made her feel oddly uncomfortable. It wasn't like him—he avoided unnecessary contact at all costs.

"Let's practice later," she requested.

"No, this is fun," he responded as he released her to reload.

"Just stop it, Daryl!" she couldn't help but cry out as she saw him prepare to stick a third arrow in to the Walker

"Come here," he responded and she started to wonder why she was even bothering to open her mouth, at this rate. He grabbed her once more and she was suddenly pressed against him all over again. Beth nearly lost her footing and felt her hands habitually make their way to clasp around his arm to regain her balance.

Finally, he released her again. She had had enough. She couldn't stand to watch this scene play out any further. It was making her stomach churn and press against her in a wave of nausea.

"Just kill it!" she yelled frantically, as images of her daddy flashed unwelcomingly into her mind, eyes glassy and skin pale. She bit back another wave of protestation from her stomach.

Daryl obviously wasn't listening, or at least he was choosing to not heed her requests. He approached the Walker, his eyes set on the creature. "Come here, Greene! Let's pull these out and get a little more target practice."

Suddenly it was clear to Beth. She didn't just need to know him well to understand how she should handle this situation with him, how she should pull them out of this. She needed to know herself—make a stand, have the _courage_ to be herself; she needed to show him that he didn't scare her, that she could be comfortable even when he tried to test her.

She had seen him pull this on the others before—especially after the little girl from the barn had died. He would explode, rant, rave, say terribly hurtful things. The others, especially Carol, would simply sit back and take it. Beth believed this was what most people thought he needed—just to get everything out and in the open.

This seemed inherently not okay to her, somehow. It's one thing to not like someone, to be irritated by their company. It's another to be disrespectful and hurtfully call on their past mistakes and their losses. Of course, even to the others, Daryl would always look remorseful after the fact, but Beth couldn't help but think that wasn't enough—too little, too late. He needed to know that directing this behavior towards her wasn't okay.

And that was when she realized _he _needed _her_. He didn't need Carol here right now, to sit back and take this, to let the issue pass and let him continue to stew in his own juices to start the countdown to another throwdown. He needed_ her_—someone to push back and demand he face these things.

And that is exactly what she would do.

Her first move was to put the Walker out of its misery. Just because it was the walking dead didn't mean it deserved to be treated as little more than a target. In just a few short steps, she passed him on her approach to the Walker and stabbed it in the head.

He turned on her so quick she thought his neck surely had cracked from the tension. "What the hell'd you do that for? We was having fun."

Beth swung around to him and took that moment to gather any last scraps of courage she could find. The anger flowing through her system at his treatment towards the Walker made it easier, even once she found his eyes and saw the swirl of emotions they had to offer.

"No, you were being a jackass!" she yelled. Beth knew what needed to be said next, but it was by no means easy. "If anyone found my dad—"

Suddenly he leaned down to be more on her level, bringing his face distinctly into her personal space. "Don't!" he called, clearly distraught by what she had implied. "That ain't even remotely the same."

She held strong and pushed back towards him, invading his personal space in kind. "Killing them is not supposed to be fun!" she insisted.

For the smallest of moments she saw some form of regret flash through his bright blue eyes. It was replaced quickly by his default setting—anger.

"What do you want from me, girl?"

His desperate plea to cling to his anger may have held strong in his voice, but his eyes were starting to tell a different story. This was her chance. She needed to take it. She needed him to see.

"I want you to stop acting like you don't give a crap about anything!" Her own voice cracked in response to his unsettling. She worked to keep her eyes steady on him and strengthen her voice as she moved forward. "Like nothing we went through matters. Like none of the people we lost meant anything to you! It's bullshit!" she cried, surprising even herself as her temper took hold of her mind for a moment.

Daryl's anger faded and for the briefest moment she thought she saw a glimmer of offense take its place. "Is that what you think?" he asked, his voice at least a bit quieter.

"That's what I _know_," she held strong, despite the refusal his face was broadcasting.

"You don't know nothin'." His anger returned as he looked briefly away from her.

She tilted her head as she gathered the strength to be completely honest with him. Beth knew some of the others struggled to see through him; he was always seen as somewhat of a mystery, even to those who had been part of their family for an extended period of time.

While certain facets of him had always remained confusing or perplexing to her, she had always been able to read people very easily, and he was no exception to that. If he thought she was too blind to see through him, he was wrong. And that needed to be brought to his attention.

"I know you look at me and you just see another dead girl!" she yelled, pulling on all the strength left in her bones. "I'm not Michonne, I'm not Carol, I'm not Maggie," she paused as other emotions came to the surface all over again, forcing her anger to the background. But she refused to cry; this wasn't about her or the losses she had suffered. "I survived and you don't get it, because I'm not like you or them. But I made it," she started, her anger returning with a passion. "And you don't get to treat me like crap because you're afraid!"

This only prompted a repeat of his previous reaction, as he muttered, "you don't know nothin'".

But she did. She _really_ did. And his insistence that she was wrong only proved that she was right. Instantly a memory came to her, and she knew what she needed to do, what she needed to say, to remind him of the person he truly was—the person he had the potential to be.

The calm quality to her voice surprised even her. It demanded Daryl's attention, as she noted he suddenly couldn't look away. "I remember," she started, refusing to rush this moment. She needed to approach this properly. "When that little girl came out of the barn, after my mom."

Recognition registered on his face as he turned to prevent her from seeing into his eyes. But she had seen enough—that deep sadness that she had seen overcome him in the days to follow the barn, a sadness he always got whenever someone even casually mentioned Sophia's name. "You were like me," she confirmed her own suspicions as he refused to meet her eyes. It frustrated her to no end and served to bring anger back into her tone. "And now, God forbid you ever let anybody get too close."

Beth anticipated he'd resort to anger in response. It was what he did when he couldn't stand to deal with whatever was going on around him. As he swung around to face her and invade her personal space all over again, she did her best to hold steady and maintain her confidence. Budging was not allowed.

"Too close, huh?" he spat and she knew they were going to approach dangerous territory here. "You know all about that. You lost two boyfriends, you can't even shed a tear! Your whole family's gone, all you can do is go off lookin' for hooch like some dumb college bitch!"

She was shaking, but she held her ground. "Screw you, you don't get it," she stated.

"No, you don't get it." His anger was reaching a high now. They were approaching what the issue really was, she was sure of it. "Everyone we know is dead!"

The reappearance of this stale argument didn't surprise her in the least. Their strikingly contrasting opinions on this issue were never brought up by coincidence. She knew there was something there—a way in, a way to start breaking down those walls.

Suddenly, she realized, if she could get him to take a sledgehammer to his, she'd do the same to hers. Part of her had always known that would be the case, hence why she had chosen to share some small tidbits in their time together since the prison had fallen.

But the fact that she would willingly crash hers down to the very ground for the sake of helping him do the same startled her. It came simultaneously out of nowhere and yet was completely expected. It was Daryl. It had always been Daryl.

She had never known him intimately, and yet she had. She had just never realized she had the potential to push them both to their max.

"You don't know that," she insisted, for what felt to be the fiftieth time since the loss of the prison.

"Might as well," he said as he moved to really get in her face again. "'Cause you ain't never gonna see 'em again."

There was the first blow, and it physically drew all the air out of her lungs. She felt it, right at her heart. But the shock did more; it receded, all the way to their conflict earlier, where he had called keen attention to several key insecurities of hers. The words sunk in, creating retrograde blows and crumbling her walls even further.

"Rick," he continued. "You ain't never gonna see Maggie again!"

And that was it. Maggie's name was the last hit of the sledgehammer. Her walls were completely dissolved; she was back to _just_ Beth now, no defenses.

But she suspected he was doing some internal construction as well. She had been close to Rick, it was true. But he and Daryl were essentially brothers. No, she thought, the Sheriff's name wasn't mentioned for her benefit. _It was for his_.

The pain was intolerable. She couldn't do it alone. And she suspected he couldn't either. Out of habit, she reached out, her empathy begging her to find some way, _any_ way to give him comfort and receive comfort in return.

"Daryl, just stop!" she cried, but out of sadness now, not anger. He just brushed her hand away, almost as if it were a temptation he wasn't allowed to have.

Daryl turned his face from her, but his body language gave her more than enough material to go off of. His shoulder slumped as the will to fight deflated from him entirely.

"Governor rolled right up to our gates!" _The name_, she thought. Neither of them had been able to say it. It, along with the odd cracking evident in his voice, confirmed to her that Daryl's walls had been discarded, lying in a pile at their feet with the dead Walker. Daryl's head angled a bit, prompting her to attempt to catch a glimpse of his eyes. This side of him was so new, so foreign—she felt certain that, if she could look into those eyes, they would tell her everything she needed to know to proceed.

"Maybe if I wouldn't'a stopped lookin'," he paused as he turned away from her again, facing their shack of a house. "Maybe because I gave up. That's on me!" he cried, turning slightly towards her once again.

"Daryl—" Her heart was utterly broken—for him, for herself, for their family. She ached to comfort him, but he simply wouldn't allow it, as he batted yet another hand away.

"Your dad," he started again. Her throat clenched. "Maybe I coulda done something." That was it. That was all Beth could handle. She couldn't stand the thought that he blamed himself for the death of her father. It needed to end immediately. Not knowing what else to do, she moved in and secured herself around him, hugging him from behind.

The reaction she received contrasted with every fact she had known about Daryl; physical contact made him recoil. But not now. He broke down under her, as he started crying. She quickly glanced over his shoulder, to insure that he was fundamentally okay, only to return her head to his shoulder blade. It was what they both needed, to mend their broken walls.


	10. Intimacy Part IV

**The final part of ****_Still_**** has finally arrived! I'll be curious to hear reviews and responses for this; quite a bit of it is original content—issues they've skated over in the past and issues they have yet to discuss but, in my opinion, just needed to happen :-)**

**Thank you to all who regularly read! Those of you who review continue to make my day :-)**

Daryl wasn't sure how they had gotten here. How they had meandered their way back into the house. He had no memory of stumbling up the stairs or crossing the rickety porch.

But as Beth's hand lingered on his arm while she lowered him into his damn dumpster chair, he realized it must've been her.

He could see clearly again. With a sigh of relief he realized he had stopped with the fucking crying at some point.

His clear sight was quickly put to good use as he eyed Beth's movements around the living room. He should hate her. She had broken him down, made him do things he hadn't done since his daddy used to beat the shit out of him as a kid. Merle would've been disgusted with that show out there.

But, for a change, he didn't hear Merle's voice in his head. The cycle of thoughts about the Governor seemed to have paused too. Daryl felt numb, his eyes the only thing moving as he watched her grab another jar and hold it out to him.

He should hate her. He knew that. But he didn't. He couldn't. If it had been one sided, maybe he would've lashed out at her, continued to emphasize how irritating she could be.

But it hadn't been. She had shared too. Not as much, but it was obvious. Her hope was strong. But it wasn't bulletproof. A confirmation on his suspicions from earlier. That was all he needed. To know he wasn't _alone_. To know that someone could see through his bullshit—someone who wanted to actually get to know him.

He had never thought it would be her. She was too young, too naïve, too innocent. Apparently he was wrong as shit. On all accounts. No one had ever been as knowing as she'd been, looking through him like he wore everything on his sleeves. Which he knew wasn't the case. But it was for her, and the way she saw him.

Daryl slid out of his dumpster chair to sit directly in front of it on the floor. As he did so, he took the jar and took a few more sips, careful not to push too far. With a groan, he remembered that he knew exactly what had caused the argument and the resulting tear fest from him. Maybe her daddy was right—alcohol did no one no good.

Beth sat directly in front of him, her legs crossed in front of her as she rocked back and forth and took a few more sips herself. Even with the occasional break caused by her sips, he noticed she was watching him. She was always alert, always aware. It made him wonder what she was thinking. What was she seeing now, he wondered.

"I looked for that little girl every single day," he said before he even knew the words had formed a thought in his brain. If he thought she had been staring before, he had been wrong. Now her eyes were wide and absolutely glued to his face. The moonshine sat on the floor, out of her mind entirely apparently. Her rocking stopped too.

It made him uncomfortable. He looked away and focused on his own jar instead. "I looked for her every day," he repeated with a sigh. "Everyone was…hopin' and prayin'. You know. The usual bullshit," he said, his voice a low grumble.

Daryl paused as he expected her to criticize his language, his tone, his outlook. Something. Anything.

But she didn't. So he carried on. "I told them that was nothin'. Gave Carol a Cherokee Rose and told her it meant Sophia had to be out there."

Despite every cell of his being telling him he shouldn't, that it would reveal too much, his eyes met hers. "Wasn't no bullshit, either. I really thought she was. Even when Carol lost hope…I still had it. Even when Shane said I was a shit," he paused as he dropped his eyes from hers, unable to withstand it anymore. "That Sophia wouldn't'a come ta me anyway."

He waited again. She always had something to say, but she didn't seem to now. So his mouth just kept running, kept going. "I was gonna find her if it killed me," he stopped and released one rough laugh. "Damn near did, too. In one day, fell offa horse, fell down the same fucking hill twice, landed on an arrow that went straight through me like I was nothin' but butter." Another laugh escaped him, even though he knew it wasn't funny at all. His body still had scars from that day.

"Woke up from the second fall with a Walker chompin' on my shoe. Never told no one 'bout that close call. Pr'bly still wouldn't understand why I took their damn ears," he spit out spitefully.

"And, then, finally manage to get back, only ta get shot at by one of our own. Not exactly the welcomin' party I was expectin'."

He stopped again to take a swig from his jar, as his eyes moved towards hers again. Beth was still watching him, barely even blinking.

"Or maybe it was," he said with a shrug. "No one but Carol seemed too put off by the whole thing."

Daryl caught her smiling out of the corner of his eye and forced his to meet hers. A small bubble of anger started to grow in his stomach. Was she making fun of him?

"Rick," was all she said, as she held her smile. But it was all she needed to say. He nodded immediately, as the anger subsided just as easily as it had come. She was right—Rick had been upset about that. And he had been pissed at Andrea for shooting him. More so than even Daryl had been, really.

"And then, that day," he started and saw her stiffen a bit. Her smile dropped again. Daryl knew she understood what he meant. "I was stupid, thinkin' she had to be out there somewhere, I just had ta be fast and smart and I'd find her," he said with a snort into his jar as he took another sip. "It was bullshit. And I knew it the second she came shufflin' outta that door."

In a blur, his thoughts stumbled through losing Sophia and losing the prison. He could see both events clear as day, despite the fact that they felt like they were hundreds of years old. His two biggest failures. The leaders amongst a pack of mistakes.

"It was my fault," he started again after his thoughts wouldn't shut up. Talking seemed to quiet them down. "Sophia," he specified, the name sounding bitter in his mouth. "I should'a done a better job of lookin' for her that first couple'a days. If I could'a found her, she would'a been fine."

He took a deep breath before he continued. "If I could'a stopped h—h…_him_…done something different, been smarter, faster. Could'a stopped the Governor. Could'a saved our home. Our family."

Before he could even finish, Beth was shaking her head violently. "There was nothing you could do, in either situation. Nothing more than you already did."

He just scoffed and took a sip, almost relieved to hear her talking. It felt like she had given him permission to take a break.

"It's true," she reassured as her eyes settled on his. Again he felt like he couldn't look away. "You _were_ out there looking for her every single day. If it would've been possible to save her, you would've found a way."

"Just like I found a way ta stop the Gov'nor." He could practically taste the bitter coming off his words.

"You may not have stopped him, but none of us could. He had a tank and we were clearly outnumbered. You stayed and fought to the very end. We were the last to get out, or close to it. You did everything you could."

He looked down to his shoe, resisting the urge to believe her. But the words were so softly spoken, so assured, that the pull was strong.

"And you saved me," she said, barely above a whisper. Against his will his eyes snapped up to meet hers again. "You got me out," she reiterated.

They sat, eyes locked for several seconds before either one of them moved to talk again. Daryl didn't know how to respond to her words. Of course he had gotten her out, it was the right thing to do.

"I don't want to think," she started as she looked to the floor briefly. "If I had been out here alone. I don't—I don't want to think about what I would've probably done."

Her words didn't spell anything out, but he had a feeling he understood what she meant to say. As they hit him like a brick, he watched her as her eyes focused on the floor adamantly. Another pang of guilt latched on to him, this one from their most recent conflict.

"I found my journal," she started, cutting off the attempt to apologize he had been trying to make for several seconds; he had been failing miserably anyway. Beth met his eyes and he saw that they were watery. For a change, it didn't bother him. "'If this doesn't work, I don't know how I could keep going,'" she said, her eyes never leaving his. "That's what I wrote, after we got to the prison. And when I read that, I just looked at you and knew that we just…we just had to keep going, no matter what. For each other."

This changed things—yet again, he realized, she had managed to change things. She had doubted too, just like he had. But she didn't doubt now—there was a stubborn look on her face that told him as much. How did she do it, he wondered. He wish he knew her better, could learn how she managed that—all the while barely complaining about much of anything.

"No one can make it alone now." The words came out of him before he even knew what to do about them. Damn, he wished his mouth would work with his brain a little better. She looked confused, and he realized she didn't understand what he was trying to say—_couldn't_ understand, given that the implication tied to the words was based solely on when he had last heard them.

"Andrea," he started again. "That was one of the last things she said to us, before she pulled the trigger." He looked away uncomfortably, but his eyes demanded they make their way back. The depth of sadness he saw there surprised Daryl; they had known each other, obviously, but he didn't think they were what you'd call friends. It was out of survival. Wasn't everything?

But, then, he realized, she doesn't think like that. He didn't know exactly how she _did_ think, but it wasn't like that.

"She looked at us and she said 'no one can make it alone now.' Few years earlier, I would'a thought that was bullshit. But she was right. And I knew she was." He exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in as he met her eyes again. "I told her I never could."

Beth looked curious, almost as if this had surprised her. Good, that had been his purpose.

"By then," he started, looking away again. "Things had changed. I had changed. I didn't listen ta Merle, let myself get attached. Rick, Michonne, the others. After all of 'em…all of _us_, together. I couldn't do it alone anymore."

He let his words hang between them, refusing to spell it out for her. But as he looked up to meet her eyes, he found that he didn't need to, that she was drawing the connection on her own. Of course she was, he thought. She almost always did.

"I always liked Andrea," Beth said quietly. "Sh—she was the one who gave me the opportunity to choose. Everyone else told me what I could and couldn't do. She was the first one to let me know I had a choice in how I wanted to live…or die. For that, I'll be eternally grateful for her and what she did that day, even if Maggie wanted to kill her for it."

Daryl looked away again, as her words brought him back to what he had prepared to say earlier. "It's just…for a while," he started, releasing a breath that sounded almost nervous, as much as he hated to admit that fact. "After Sophia, I couldn't take it. Couldn't take the others. I felt like I'd let everyone down and no one jumped ta tell me otherwise. Really, when you think about it," he paused as he kept his eyes trained on his feet. "What you did, then, after the barn. No different than me—shuttin' myself off, pissin' people off.

"You made your choice," he clarified as he finally looked at her again. "I knew that then, know it now. Didn't doubt it after that."

It was as close to an apology as she was going to get, and the look of shock on her face told Daryl that she had received that message clearly. He even thought he saw a held back smile as she brought her jar to her lips again.

:::~:::

A stretch of silence was welcome after the previous few hours. Somehow, though, Daryl knew they weren't done. He kept glancing at Beth, still against his better judgment. There was something on her face, something he couldn't quite make out. He knew she was struggling with something, getting ready to talk again. Part of him was incredibly curious, while he was also equally exhausted and in need of a break.

His curiosity won out, though, as he found his eyes moving towards her with increasing frequency. When she finally took a gasp of air, he resisted the urge to lean forward from resting his back off of his dumpster chair in anticipation.

"What I said, earlier—"

"Said a lot earlier," he interrupted, almost feeling a small smirk hitting his lips. But it couldn't quite make it.

Regardless, Beth smiled and laughed, and he was instantly surprised at how pleased he was he hadn't shook her off of what she had to say.

"Thinking—Askin' if you were ever in prison," she said with a sigh as she avoided looking in his eyes. Her cheeks instantly flooded with color. Daryl felt like his must've too. "I didn't think—I didn't mean to make it sound like I thought you were a criminal."

She paused, almost as if she were waiting for some form of a response. He wasn't going to give her one. Not yet, anyway.

His silence brought her eyes to meet his. He had a feeling she did that to get a read on him—it made him wonder what exactly his eyes were blabbing behind his back.

"I've never thought that. That you could've been a criminal, that is."

Beth barely whispered the words and Daryl was shocked to discover that her somewhat breathless tone could affect him; he had never really heard her talk like that before. What did it mean?

He shrugged, attempting to keep his cool on the surface. "You wouldn't'a been the first, if ya had."

Her expression crinkled, like she was confused about something. "Who has ever thought that about you?"

"Hell if I know, for sure. Just a feelin' I get. Ain't nothin' wrong with it, I guess," he paused as he looked down to the floor. "I said the same thing myself, when we first moved inta the prison. Remember? We found them guys locked up in the cafeteria?" He waited for her to nod to tell him she did remember. "When we were talkin' 'bout what ta do with 'em, I said could'a just as easily been me in there. One or two things gone different, could'a been on the opposite sides of those bars. And not by no choice neither."

As soon as he had finished, she was shaking her head. "I don't believe that," she asserted and he laughed roughly in response. "I don't," she insisted, putting her jar down and sitting up. "You're a good man, Daryl. No matter what other people may think or say, you've proven to be a good man."

"You didn't know me before. Wasn't no good man then."

Just as he always did when presented with conversations like this, he got flashes of what his life used to be like before the world had gone to shit. As he had now become accustomed to, he pushed the thoughts out of his way. He hated to think about it, for so many different reasons.

"People change, Daryl. But they don't change that much," she stopped herself for a second and looked away from him. He thought he saw something there, but he couldn't make out what it was. Apparently he couldn't read her like she could read him. "I have faith that you would've looked for that little girl before all of this mess, just as you did with the world stacked up against you. Walkers or not, it doesn't matter. You _are _a good man."

He shook his head, refusing to believe it. Beth may be able to read him like a book, but she didn't know everything. Especially about this.

"That day—"

"There's been a lot of days, Daryl," her smile, bright as ever, actually had a bit of an edge to it. He couldn't help but begrudgingly let go of one laugh, as she turned his tactics against him.

"The run, where we lost Zack." His words had her rigid again, although he thought he noticed she wasn't nearly as tense as she had been at the beginning of the conversation. "He was playin' that game he always did. You know it," he said.

"Where he guessed what you did before all this," she said with a small smile, but her eyes were locked on his. He thought he saw curiosity there. But maybe he was just reading it wrong.

"Yeah. Me, him and Michonne were waitin' to clear the store of Walkers when he started it up again, askin' if I was some type'a cop. But, before he got there, he started sayin' somethin' like 'the way ya are at the prison.'" He looked away for a moment, but her eyes just followed him, demanding his come back to her. "I just—I remember lookin' at him, challengin' him to say it. Put it out there—tell me I was obviously nothin' more than a criminal."

"Did he?" she asked when he sat in silence for too long for her. Or, at least, he thought that might be her motivation—it seemed to him that, if she could read him like this, she would definitely know better than to think Zack would've said something like that.

"Nah," he started. "Last second he added that I help people. Soon as he did that, I just backed off and let it play out."

Another deep breath came out of him as he alternated between looking between her and his shoes. "With him, I guess I just let it go. He didn't know me, how the hell was he supposed to know? But—" he cut himself off as a groan nearly escaped him. He was no good for stuff like this. "Earlier—with things, the way they been—with the way you talk…" he trailed off, not sure where he was trying to take this.

But when he looked up at her again, he realized maybe she knew, even if he didn't.

"You thought I'd think differently. That I wouldn't be like the others. That I wouldn't assume."

Her words hit straight home. Daryl's cheeks definitely started burning then and he felt like he had no other choice than to look away now.

She was exactly right—he had hoped that she, in her infinite hope and ability to see the best in others, wouldn't look at him and see someone barely better than a common criminal.

"I never did, Daryl." She said the words so clearly, so decisively that he couldn't help but meet her eyes again. Which way did she mean? That she hadn't thought of him differently? Or that she had never assumed? Why did he care? "I never thought you were nothing better than a prisoner. I won't deny that I've wondered, spent a bit of time trying to figure out what it is you did before this. But I never would've assumed that was what you were. It just doesn't fit with who you are now."

"And who exactly is that?" he asked, thinking it really did fit right in with who he was.

She didn't hesitate. If her words didn't scare him, that fact alone did. "Someone who risks their life for their family—whether they're related by blood or not, doesn't matter. Someone who knows the difference between right and wrong and does their best to follow through on the right side. Someone who makes every effort to help provide in a world that has very little to give. Someone who, despite appearances," she paused as she let out a deep breath. "Cares very much for the opinions of those he holds dear. And you take that into consideration and you fight to make it better tomorrow."

Daryl didn't know what to do with this. He couldn't look away from her, not even after she had finished and dropped them back into silence. Knowing it was his turn to talk, he tried to motivate his mouth to move, despite the fact that it suddenly felt like he had a cotton ball stuffed down his throat.

But his mouth was a trivial problem; it was his brain that was the real issue. What exactly could he say to that?

:::~:::

"Sometimes literally, sometimes metaphorically," she added as a finish when he continued to not respond. Beth suspected he wasn't going to say anything in return; he seemed to be stunned speechless, almost as if he really hadn't the slightest idea how to respond.

That was perfectly okay by Beth. She wanted him to think about it, take it in. Eventually he would come to see that it was true, but it didn't need to be today, right this very moment.

"I wish I could be like that," she began as she moved to stare at her jar of moonshine that sat on the floor by her feet. "To be able to fight, to be considered authoritative enough to be entrusted with some form of a contribution," she clarified as she continued to look at her glass. He had shared; she reckoned it was high time she did too.

With a small, sad smile and a humorless laugh she looked up to meet his eyes. What she saw there almost made her truly laugh—he looked oh-so relieved that she had taken the responsibility of speaking off of him. "Do you remember, when Maggie and Glenn got taken, and we had to figure out what we were gonna do to get 'em back? Everyone was debatin', arguin'. But you said we weren't—that we were going, and you made it sound so final—"

"You said you'd go," Daryl interrupted with a nod. "Yeah, I remember it."

"You do?" she asked. Beth forced herself to take in some air; she hadn't realized that she had forgotten to do so at his response.

"Yeah. Rick was thinkin' I couldn't'a done it on my own. Damn right, too. You jumped in, said you'd go."

"Yes," she said. _One. Two. Breath_, she reminded herself. For some reason, this felt significant to her—that he remembered what she had said. It was one of the very few times that she had blatantly offered to go on any run, let alone an incredibly dangerous rescue mission. "I would've too. But daddy wouldn't let me. Said I had to stay behind, care for Judith."

"Little Ass Kicker did always like ya."

She smiled a bit, unable to deny that she had always cared for the child very deeply. "Yeah," she responded with a sheepish shrug; she didn't want to sound like she was being boastful. Beth knew she was far from the perfect caregiver. "And I care for her very, very much. But it felt like this was something I needed to do. I needed to be a part of the initiative that saved my sister and Glenn. So I stepped up. Didn't make much of a difference, though." She felt her shoulders hunch as she looked once more to the floor.

"It did," he said, causing her eyes to snap up to his. Beth could practically feel the disbelief stretching over her face. "It did," he repeated, obviously seeing that she didn't believe him.

Beth was suddenly reminded to his attempt to test her earlier in the day, as he had cheekily approached her after she managed to take out a Walker. He had, in no uncertain snarkiness, declared that she had said she could take care of herself and she _had_. At the time, she had known his statement was more of an issue of her results; she had passed his test. That being said, she had no inclination to believe he felt even slightly compelled to reassure her—to reaffirm for her that she had succeeded.

But, now, with the notable change in his tone, and the silent communication his eyes were sending her way, it seemed, to her, that the exact opposite conclusion was the only option here. Her disbelief had prompted him to repeat himself, to reaffirm his stance on it. Despite the fact that she was still hesitant, his efforts did not go unnoted to her, or unappreciated, for that matter.

"I remember that, clear as day," he said. "It shocked the hell outta me. Hadn't thought you would wanna do something like that."

She shrugged sheepishly once more. "What wouldn't I do for my sister?"

He nodded enthusiastically twice and she wondered if he was perhaps remembering his connection with Merle.

"If it meant I had to put myself in danger to save her…well, there's no way I'd let something like that stand in my way."

"Even if ya didn't get ta go. It made me look at ya different," he said as he lowered his eyes from hers again. Beth noticed he always did that when he was moving into uncomfortable sharing territory. She made note to work on easing him out of that habit in the future. He was so much easier to read when he would give her uninhibited access to his eyes—a fact she suspected he knew and was, as a result, precisely why he avoided it to begin with. "You weren't just Maggie's little sister no more."

Beth wondered what was so difficult about that statement that had him still insisting on a refusal to meet her eyes. Before she could find a way to question, to prod more out of him, he managed to find his own way to it.

"Weren't just Lil' Ass Kicker's babysitter neither," he clarified as he lowered his glass and fiddled with a lose floorboard.

"I love taking care of Little—_Judith_," she cut herself off as she almost released his nickname instead of the child's actual name. Even though he still wouldn't meet her eyes, she saw a flat out grin overcome his face. It was so out of place and yet marvelous at the same time. Beth found herself wishing he would do that more often. "But I just wish the others had let me contribute a bit more."

She trailed off, knowing there were items left unsaid there, but not certain she was quite prepared to share it yet. This was one of her deepest insecurities—everyone's inclination to shelter and coddle her. Beth knew everyone judged her by it, especially him.

"You contribute now," he said, drawing in her attention and her eyes once more. She was shocked to find him looking at her again. There was something new there, in his eyes—something she had never seen there before that perplexed her to no end. "To—to _us_."

Beth smiled, relieved to hear that she was adequately pulling her weight, even if she hated that it had taken an intensive attack to present an opportunity that would allow her to do so.

:::~:::

After the sun finally went down for the day, they made their way outside. The heat of the day was a bit unbearable but, now, in the darkness, with only the moon shedding any form of light, it was quite nice outside.

Beth noted that they both carried their moonshine jars with them, although neither one of them was really partaking any more.

"I get why my dad stopped drinking," she commented, looking out into their yard as she debated taking another sip but settled against it.

"Feelin' sick?" he asked as he glanced quickly in her direction.

"Nope," she stated. "I wish I could feel like this all the time. That's bad," she clarified, unable to restrain her smile.

"Hm-mmm," he responded, but his hum wasn't nearly as malicious as it would've been had he said it a few days ago. "Your lucky you're a happy drunk."

"Yeah, I'm happy," she confirmed, as she looked to him once more. "Some people can be real jerks when they drink." Beth couldn't refuse allowing a brighter smile to overtake her face.

"Yeah," he started as he met her eyes for the first time since they had changed locations. "I'm a dick…when I'm drunk." Beth took in the smirk on his lips as his eyes settled upon her for a few lingering seconds. It was a pleasant surprise—seeing him this…well, pleasant. He must've realized what he was doing, though, because he quickly looked away.

"Merle had this dealer," the words shot a tingle of anticipation up her spine. Had he just mentioned Merle? On his own? She sat up, intrigue immediately overcoming her. "This lanky little white guy—Tweaker. One day we were over at his house, watching TV. Wasn't even noon yet. We were all wasted. Merle was high," he stopped, temporarily meeting her eyes as he did so. Beth wondered if perhaps he hadn't chosen this story with the explicit intent of showing her he wasn't a good person after all. The question had her digging her heels in and drew her attention even more.

"We watched some show. Merle was talking all this dumb stuff about it. He wouldn't let up. Merle never could." This time, when he met her eyes, he seemed almost ashamed—of both himself and his brother. Beth waited her turn, knowing he wasn't done yet. "Turns out," he started again as he moved away from her eyes. It didn't matter, though. She kept hers steady on him. "It was the Tweaker's kid's favorite show. He never sees his kid, so he felt guilty about it, or somethin'.

"So he punches Merle in the face. So I started hitting the Tweaker…hard, hard as I can," he paused once again to look at her. There was still embarrassment there, but he pushed past it to carry on quickly. "Then, he pulls a gun." Daryl met her eyes again. She felt herself sitting even further forward. "Sticks it right here," he said as he pointed to his temple. "Says 'I'm gonna kill you, bitch.' So Merle pulls his gun on him. Everyone's yelling. I'm yelling. I thought I was dead. Over a dumb cartoon about a talkin' dog," he stopped as he scoffed, almost as if he couldn't believe the pure ridiculousness of the scene.

"How'd you get out of it?" Beth asked, not even a hint of a laugh escaping her. It was true—the picture he had painted was a bit ridiculous. But she was more interested in why he had chosen this specific story, and why he had chosen now of all times to share it.

"Tweaker punched me in the gut. I puked, we both started laughin'. We both forgot about it."

He continued to look at her, that keen distraught plaguing his features. Beth digested the story for what its intended meaning could be. Part of her knew he wanted to remind her that he wasn't always Daryl Dixon, provider for the hungry. He had once been nothing more than a henchman, bred by a brother who was only even more violent. She suspected he sought to remind her that he wasn't some kitten—meant to be played with.

But the message she got from it was entirely different. Certainly, it showed his misplaced loyalty to his brother—equally at its finest and its dumbest. But it also showed just how much he had grown in the separation from his brother. Essentially, it confirmed what Beth already knew—that it was Merle's influence that had created his least favorite aspects of his personality and sense of identity.

In his time away from Merle, as he had grown closer to Rick and their family, he had started to work towards chipping those very facets away. Ironically, it appeared Daryl was the only one who didn't seem to realize just how successful he had been.

"You want to know what I was before all this?" his question immediately drew her attention. As her eyes came back into focus, she noticed that still embarrassed expression locked on his face. His eyes lingered on hers for a moment before wandering to alternate items to focus on, never staying anywhere for too long. His knife, which had never left his hand, continued to be toyed with, as a means of distraction.

"I was just driftin' around with Merle, doin' whatever he said we were gonna be doin' that day." Daryl seemed to hesitate to carry on, but managed to gather the courage to do so. "I was nobody, nothin'," he paused and his words tightened her throat. "Some redneck asshole with an even bigger asshole for a brother."

His confession intrigued her and startled her at the same time. After all this time, after all the unanswered questions and vague responses, she was surprised that it was this. But it made sense—it was simultaneously insignificant and vast in its implications. It made perfect sense to her, although it hurt her heart that he had had such a low opinion of himself as to follow mindlessly in the moves of Merle.

"You miss him, don't you?" she settled on as her response, seeing just how incredibly troubled he was and the sheer effort it had taken for him to muster up the confession. She understood what he needed—a break. "I miss Maggie. I miss her bossin' me around," she felt that her smile was small, but she still couldn't help but laugh a bit as she thought back on times long gone. "I miss my big brother Shaun. He was so annoying and overprotective. And my dad." She had fought against the tightness in her throat for as long as she could and, finally, with the mention of her daddy, she couldn't resist the persuasive pull for her voice to crack.

"I thought—I hoped he'd just live the rest of his life in peace, you know," she continued as she looked a bit off to the distance, but she met his eyes immediately again. She found that, now that he was no longer the one speaking, he met her eyes with much better ease than he had even a few hours previously.

"I thought Maggie and Glenn would have a baby. And he'd get to be a grandpa. And we'd have birthdays and holidays and summer picnics," she said as she couldn't resist a laugh at her sheer silliness. Perhaps they were all right; maybe she really was too naïve to make it in this world.

"He'd get really old," she carried on, meeting his eyes and pushing those thoughts to the back of her mind for a moment. "It didn't happen, but…" she trailed off as she felt her smile drop beyond her control. "It'd be quiet. It'd be okay. He'd be surrounded by people he loved." Her throat tightened beyond measure and she just knew that her voice would crack drastically with her next string of words. "That's how unbelievably stupid I am."

The tears pressed upon her, but she refused to submit. They had made progress—she feared crying would be steps backward, not forward.

"That's how it's supposed to be," he responded, drawing in her eyes again. She was a little surprised that there wasn't the slightest sign of detest at the sighting of her tears.

She looked away, still not assured enough to meet his for long. "I wish I could just…change."

Daryl's determined nod drew in her attention from the corner of her eye. "You did." He said the words like there was no doubt—like it was an established fact.

"Not enough," she clarified for him. "Not like you. It's like you were made for how things are now." At her own words, she feels a smile tug at her lips again. She was oddly proud of him, in that moment—thinking back on how much he had grown.

"I'm just used to this," he responded as he motioned vaguely towards their surrounding porch and shack. "Things being ugly, growing up in a place like this."

Oh, no. That's not right, she immediately thought. "But you got away from it," she reminded him.

Just as quickly as the shake of his head reaffirmed that she _had _in fact changed, it moved to confirm that he thought he hadn't managed to escape at all. "I didn't," he stated.

"You did." Beth sat up a bit further and maintained a steady, strong tone. She didn't want an ounce of doubt left on this issue.

The seconds lingered in silence, as his eyes glued themselves to hers. She didn't dare look away, even as her curiosity burned to know what he was searching for.

"Maybe you gotta keep on remindin' me sometimes."

The words simultaneously pleased her and rendered her with a bit of distraught. Yes, she _would _remind him—every single time he needed it, until she drew in her very last breath.

But what if that was tomorrow? What if that was later this evening? No matter what Daryl said, no matter how much someone adapted, no matter how excellent someone became at surviving, there was no guarantee of tomorrow. And a lifetime? A naturally long lifetime like they had grown accustomed to? Almost unimaginable. That had never been a guarantee—mortality was always inevitable. But now—now mortality demanded even more attention.

"No," she said as she drew out the word, her smile brightening. Despite the worry his words had prompted, there was a warmness that had started to radiate through her at them as well. It demanded attention and she yielded with relative ease. "You can't depend on anyone for anything, right?" Her smile held true as she echoed his very words from earlier. But, she knew, this was only the start. A bigger message needed to be conveyed here.

"I'll be gone some day," she said, her smile dropping ever so slightly. But it was persistent, as it continued to claim her lips.

Daryl's eyes now apparently refused to leave hers. She couldn't say she blamed them; hers were glued as well.

"Stop." The word was gravelly, quieter than was usual for his gruff tone. But, regardless, she had certainly heard it.

The pure seriousness and weight of his tone threatened the presence of her smile. She maintained it, though, somehow. "I will," she started, knowing what she needed to say, what he needed to hear. "You're gonna be the last man standing." Her smile pulled even stronger as she felt that wave of pride wash over her once more.

When his only reaction was to look troubled and sad, she held strong. She was right, and some part of him suspected it, at the very least. She knew this troubled him; it was no secret that he was obviously one of—if not _the_—strongest of their family. If anyone could survive it all, it was him.

Because of that very fact, she needed him to _know_. To know that he _had_ gotten away from it all, that he _had_ become a better man—one of the best men remaining on the planet. But, most importantly, she needed him to know that he had done it, all on his own. Sure, she may be drawing attention to it now, raising his awareness on the issue, but he had done all the heavy lifting, long before she was little more than something in the background—a nanny and caregiver.

"You are," she reaffirmed once more before pausing to laugh lightly, as his request to her rang in her ears once more. "You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon." Even she couldn't hold quite strong at those words, as she felt her smile fade a bit to relay to him just how _serious_ she was, just how _proud _she was, just how _sad _she was.

The conversation seemed to be too much for him, as he finally dropped away from looking into her eyes. She couldn't say she blamed him—his were nearly giving her a headache on the sheer complexity of their emotions. It was so much and too little—she wanted to read every little thing they had to offer and even then she'd still beg for him to share more.

"You ain't a happy drunk at all, girl," he said, eyes still evading hers and voice cracking.

"Yeah, I'm happy. I'm just not blind," she confirmed, but her expression still held her more serious edge to it. This was it—if he needed it spelt out, she would clarify it for him as well as she could. His eyes met hers at the last moment, almost as if he knew what she was preparing for. "You gotta stay who you are. Not who you were. Places like this," she left his eyes momentarily to take in their shack once again. "You have to put it away."

Daryl looked away once again, looking intrigued, yet confused by her words. What she wouldn't give to be able to read his thoughts, just in that moment.

"What if you can't?" he asked, his eyes snapping back to hers, curiosity burning bright in them.

"You have to," she insisted. "Or it kills you…" she paused as she released that bright smile for what felt to be the millionth time. She had faith—that what she was about to say would prepare him. No matter what happened to the pair of them in the future, she wanted him to know—to know just how proud she was of him, just how great of a person he had become. "Here," she said, as she clutched at her heart to dig the point home.

"You should go inside," he bit out as he looked away. He wanted her to think he was pushing her away again, but she wasn't falling for that for one moment.

Her smile came back even brighter as she took in their shack—for it was _theirs_, through and through. Their past, their present, the potential of their future. It was everything, all wrapped up in one horrible odor and tasteless décor. "We should burn it down," she said with a chuckle. Her eyes and her smile remained glued, even as Daryl got up, looking casual, as if he were attempting to tell her he was disconnected from it now, from _her_ now. But she knew better. And she suspected he knew as much.

Daryl stopped short at the door and looked over his shoulder to meet her eyes once again. His smirk slid in to place, and she almost knew what he was going to say, long before it left his mouth. "We're gonna need more booze."

They made quick work of spraying every single surface of the shack in moonshine. Beth's smile didn't leave her once and, she noted, in a few quick glances, that Daryl even seemed to be enjoying himself.

It was a symbolic act. At least, that had been her intention. The shack represented all the things they disliked about themselves—where all of those things were forced into the light. It had been painful, naturally, but it had been needed, of that much Beth was certain.

Now, they could burn the shack down, leaving behind the images, the conceptions of who they were _supposed _to be, and start moving towards who they _wanted _to be. This was a good moment for her, but truly, she had conceived it with Daryl in mind. She knew he had spent the bulk of his childhood in a place like this—that is, when he wasn't out in the woods, fending for himself. He _needed_ this to shed himself of those preconceptions that Merle and his father had drilled into him—that he only had a certain capacity for who he could be in this world.

He could be any damn person he wanted. She hoped he knew that now. But, if he didn't, maybe she'd keep on reminding him sometimes.


	11. Teaching and Learning Part I

**First, I want to thank everyone for the amazing responses to the last chapter! The reviews were amazing and I'm incredibly grateful for those of you who took the time and energy to not only read, but respond. **

**There were two reviews left by Guests that I specifically want to address. First, to the Guest who dropped the theory that Daryl believes Beth particularly cares for Rick, and that there would be mutterings from the Woodbury people about Beth taking care of Little Ass Kicker—this blew my mind, especially when you referenced the blonde they had to remove from Cell Block D. I guess I'll just have to go back and watch it again, because you've got me fascinated :-)**

**Next, the Guest who paid me the high compliment of saying that I know the characters very well and asked if I had the intention of continuing after the close of season four. First, I say thank you, as I've tried very hard to keep them as true as is possible. Next, I say that I ****_do_****, as a matter of fact, intend to continue. In typical fashion, I've engaged in copious amounts of research—show and comic alike—and have formulated what is, in my opinion, a relatively solid theory for the proceedings of season five. That part is finished, and will be posted, should I not severely disappoint the readers prior to that time and receive a request to cease and desist writing entirely :-)**

**Now, on to the notes regarding this chapter. I'm going to preface this chapter by saying I have never hunted in my entire life. Those of you who have will undeniably know just how little knowledge I have on this area in just a few paragraphs :-)**

**I have a theory that quite a bit of time passed between ****_Still _****and ****_Alone_****, based on the fact that they just keep adding more layers to their clothing. That being said, the next few chapters are meant to cover the time between the two episodes. This specific chapter, I'm afraid, is a bit of the filler between two intense sharing sessions. This one may not be too exciting, but I ask that you hold faith that there will be more to come :-)**

"You wanna change?" Daryl asked, eyes set to the tracks before their feet. When she didn't respond to what he had thought of as a simple question, he looked up to meet her face.

When he spotted the color tinting her cheeks, he thought on what he could've said.

"You mean, like my clothes?" she asked as she left his eyes to quickly glance at her clothing. Daryl thought she might be embarrassed of the raggedy yellow shirt that she still had on. But, with the world gone to shit, he couldn't honestly guess why that would matter.

"Nah," he started, looking back ahead of them. "But we can try ta find some new ones, if ya want."

"What did you mean?" she asked persistently. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, that her eyes were equally determined in their trained stance on to his face.

Daryl kept his eyes trained forward. He knew they gave him away to her, although he didn't really know how they did. If he could figure it out, maybe he'd try to stop it from happening.

"Daryl?" she asked as she moved ahead to walk backwards, allowing her to face him head on. Damnit, he thought, her movement had made it twice as hard for him to covertly avoid looking at her.

"You really wanna change?" he asked again, lowering his eyes to his shoes.

He tried to think what he'd say if he was forced to try to clarify but, much like always, she managed to understand him before he needed to say anything further. Daryl would never admit it, but that always made him very grateful. Begrudgingly so, as he really didn't like that she seemed to know him so much better than he knew her, but that was just a skill she seemed to have.

"Yes," she answered as she stopped walking, forcing him to come to a short stop to keep himself from walking straight into her. The abrupt change in movement forced his eyes up to hers.

The excitement and intrigue he found there had his glued to hers. It was for this very reason that he had resisted looking at her to begin with—it was always harder to look away once he caved. And, once that happened, when he struggled to look away, she got a read on him. He wasn't so obvious to anyone else—or at least he didn't think he was—but she just seemed to see right through him. It made him wish he could do the same to her, get to know her like she seemed to know him.

Her damn eyes, he thought, as he continued to return her look. They drew him in, made him wonder what she was thinking. The way she thought, the opinions she formed—they drew him in. It was so extremely different to how he did things—that light, that passion, that hope—he couldn't help but be drawn in by it, no matter how much he hated to admit that he was.

"'K, then. We're gonna start trainin'," he responded as he walked around her to return on their path on the tracks.

"When?" she asked as she jogged to catch back up to him, her tone far more eager than he had expected it to be.

"We'll make camp a little early tonight," he said as he started to scan the surrounding woods for a good spot. "Then we'll start."

"What'll we start with?" she asked, her smile and tone so bright they felt like they might make her explode. He noticed she placed an excited hand on his arm, as her celebration almost caused her to stumble on the uneven tracks. Daryl felt the impulse to recoil rise in his throat, but he shrugged it off; couldn't have her tripping her damn self and putting a stop to the training before it could even really start, after all.

"Trackin'," he decided after a bit of time to think on it.

"Not weapons?" Beth asked him, but he noticed her tone wasn't really disappointed—just curious. Maybe he did know her a bit, he thought. Maybe what he really wanted was to know her _better_, to understand how she could think the way she does. Maybe, he thought begrudgingly, he wanted her closer; not just to keep her safe, but to comprehend how she thought—to find some way to adapt to it himself.

"Gotta be able ta find a squirrel before you worry 'bout killin' it," he said with a small smile as he looked down at her.

Her smile brightened once more as she quickened her pace, removing her hand from his arm as she did so.

"Come on," she called. "Let's find a place."

He was never one to smile—everyone knew that. But as Beth practically started skipping ahead of him, even he couldn't stop one from shoving its way onto his face. Didn't mean he didn't fight like hell against it—biting his lip and the side of his cheek in an effort to stop it. He lost the battle.

:::~:::

With Beth moving them along, they managed to find some high ground to settle into for the evening pretty quickly. It was still barely mid-afternoon, Daryl realized with approval as they strung up their protective cans that were the new and improved version of their alarm system. Mid-afternoon would give them a few hours to practice before they were forced to return at dark.

He watched as Beth meandered about the camp; she seemed to be working to assemble as much of a home out of their little patch of forest as she could. It intrigued him, although he hated that it did. What did it matter if they were comfortable, he wondered. She had to know that they wouldn't be here long. Wasn't what she was doing—tidying up and such—pointless then?

But it didn't make him angry, as it would've a few days ago. He didn't know what to do with that, but he had to admit it felt nice to not be mad for a change.

In fact, if he were honest, it intrigued him, drew in his attention. He tried to study her, as she seemed able to do to him. The smile that hit her face as she assembled a small hole and filled it with kindling particularly drew in his curiosity. He thought he knew what it was about—she was thinking they would return with something she had tracked to cook for dinner. We'd see, he thought. Tracking was no easy task—she shouldn't get ahead of herself.

Beth looked up and met his eyes; he felt his cheeks darken at being caught looking at her. But she seemed to barely notice, as she cast one more look around the camp, almost as if she were resolving herself to having done everything she could for the time being.

"Ready?" she asked him.

Daryl took one more glance around their camp before turning back to her. When he met her eyes again, he thought she might've realized he didn't even looked troubled by the lack of things they seemed to have now—no sleeping bags, no extra sets of clothing, no tents. Her confusion only confused him in return—hadn't the moonshine shack shown her just how little he had had? This camp had more than he had usually had as a kid.

He nodded as he tightened his hold on his bow and stepped over the twine that strung together their cans. Without speaking one single word, Daryl moved forward, his eyes set on the ground and scanning ferociously. He heard her moving behind him and knew he'd have to teach her to be a bit stealthier than she seemed to be right now. But that was another lesson for another day, he determined, as he found some rabbit tracks.

"'K," he started, pointing out the direction of the tracks. "There ya go. Some rabbit tracks. Perfect for dinner," he said.

"Where?" she asked, as she leaned forward to look closely, bringing her close to his chest.

He leaned down to her level, where she was examining the ground closely. Patiently, he dropped to squat and pointed out the tracks, hidden right beneath a few leaves.

"Where?" she asked again, matching his stance, only leaning even further forward.

"Here," he said softly as he grabbed her hand and brushed aside some more of the leaves. He used her fingers to outline the prints in the mud. "Do ya see 'em?"

"Yeah," she said as she smiled a bit and leaned even further forward. "How did you spot 'em?" she looked back to him, her eyes bright with curiosity. If he didn't know better—and he wasn't so sure that he really did—he'd say she was almost impressed with him.

Daryl looked away from her as he shrugged indifferently. "Brain's just wired for it, I guess. Keep your eyes open and you'll start seein' it too."

Beth nodded as she looked back to the prints and crinkled her forehead. Daryl almost laughed, as he realized she was trying to figure out what they did next.

"See how clear they are?" he asked as he pointed again to the outline of the print. "No smudges, even with a few leaves layin' on top. Fresh tracks," he clarified, as she continued to look confused. Her mouth molded into an O as she nodded her understanding. "Gotta follow it," he said. "Which way was he goin'?" he asked, watching her think it through.

"Obviously—" she started, as she seemed to stop and think about it. Daryl felt a smirk conquer his face. Beth had him beat in her ability to read people—there was no way to even think of denying it. But here, in the woods, he was in his element. It felt nice to be able to teach her something.

"That way…?" she asked, one eye squinted as she pointed forward.

"Ya askin' or ya tellin'?"

She thought for just a minute more, biting her lip as she did so. "Tellin'."

"Good," he reaffirmed as he stood once more. "How'd ya tell?"

"Paws were facin' that way," she said with a small shrug and smile.

"Then why'd you sound so shaky 'bout it?"

Beth shrugged again as she looked away from him. "Wanted to be sure, but I couldn't be."

He smiled a bit, relieved at seeing her unsure. It wasn't that he didn't like the assured Beth that seemed to crop up anytime he tried to hide something from her; it just felt nice to know that he wasn't alone in his hesitancy.

"We wanna follow it," he started, as he did his best to shrug off his troubling thoughts. "Don't lose track'a the trail."

"How'd you know it was a rabbit?" she asked as she crouched low and switched sides with him to bring herself closer to the trail.

"Don't get ahead'a yerself," he started. "We'll get there."

She glanced back at him with a small shake of the head and a smile that seemed intended to chastise him for something. He worried she might stumble and fall on the trail, but was pleasantly surprised when she held her balance, despite her curved posture and lack of concentration on where she was walking.

She kept walking forward, even after the trail veered to the right. Daryl did his best to check a laugh as he bent down and released a whistle. Beth, who hadn't realized he had stopped, stood up straight abruptly. Noise, particularly whistles, was unexpected—meant as a means of communication saved for emergencies. He realized too late that he probably should've used another way to draw her attention.

Beth turned slowly, wary of what she would see. He held up a hand to bring down her alarm and he was intrigued by how quickly she read his body language and dropped her posture to something that looked a bit more relaxed and comfortable. With a quirk of one finger, he asked her to return and she lowered herself to her knees right beside him.

"Track changes course here," he said as he cleared away a few leaves to bring the prints into better view. Despite not really needing to, he felt his hand extend to grab hers again. "See it?" he asked as he forced her hand to follow the new path the rabbit had taken.

"Oh," she said with sudden recognition. Maybe physically showing her the path wasn't unnecessary, he realized. "Yes, I see it," she reaffirmed as her eyes moved forward, already looking ahead.

Beth stood first and started following the trail. When it shifted a bit to the left, right under her feet, Daryl immediately felt himself jolt into action. "Don't—" he called, only to hate himself for it a second later.

His Pa and Merle had always gotten on his case about tramping on the trail. When he was younger, he didn't understand what the big deal was. Honestly, to this very day he didn't get why it was so damn important. You step on one track in a trail as solid as this one, there's gonna be another one a few inches ahead. But that had never been how his daddy and Merle had seen it—no, it was a damnable offense then.

Regardless of the anger he had infusing his system—at himself, not her—he noticed that she managed to stop mid step. If he hadn't been feeling the effects of frustration, maybe he would've smiled at the thought that she seemed to trust him so readily.

Beth used her neck to turn her head in his direction, confusion all over her face when she did, but no worry. It seemed she just wanted to know what had almost happened, but she wasn't too horribly concerned. He wondered what it felt like—to not worry about constantly screwing things up so badly they couldn't be fixed. No matter how small of a screw up he managed, his Pa and Merle always made it sound like it was the end of the world.

Which was particularly stupid, he thought, now that he sat on the other end of the world going to shit.

"What did I do?" she asked. But, again, there was no deep concern there, just a curiosity to prevent it from happening again in the future.

"Nothin'," he started, shaking his head. He noticed her leg was still frozen mid-air and, again as if he had no control over his appendages, he reached out and gently urged her knee down, purposely guiding her so that it fell dead center on the rabbit's print. "Just a bad habit, 's'all," he added casually as he moved forward a bit, avoiding her eyes, even as he felt hers scanning his face for all he had to offer.

"What is it?" she moved to stand in front of him again, forcing him to look at her. Daryl bit the inside of his cheek as those eyes held his attention. He thought she might be doing this on purpose—but he couldn't be sure.

"Just somethin' my daddy and Merle used'ta say." He tried to step around her, but her hand on his arm stopped him immediately. This time, he couldn't help but lower his eyes to it. It made him a bit uncomfortable, to the point where he felt he had to meet her eyes just to keep from looking at it instead. Was she doing that on purpose too? He couldn't tell and it frustrated him, but not in the way he had been frustrated before the moonshine shack.

"What'd they say?" she asked. Her damn eyes were so shiny that he couldn't look away once he set himself there.

"Don't step on the trail." His words came out gruff, even more so than he usually was. That's what happened when he tried to act like something didn't bother him when it really did. But, as long as she didn't know that, he was okay with it.

Beth looked down briefly and realized she had done so. "But, I did," she said as she looked back up, an obvious question on her face.

Daryl shrugged. "I know. They used'ta get on my case for that. Never knew why—always another print just ahead," he started and was interested to see her nod her understanding. But, he noticed, she didn't speak, almost as if she knew he wasn't done. How could she know that? "Tried to stop ya, outta habit. But, last minute…" he trailed off as he tried to think about why he had changed his mind. "Just realized it wasn't worth it."

Her smile turned bright at his words, although he had no idea what he had done to make her smile. Its brightness and the curiosity it caused in him pulled on him, urged him to hold her eyes and try to dissect how she did it, how she managed to stay so bright and shiny is this shithole of a world.

She didn't say anything else as she turned back to the trail and started tracking again. Daryl, after shrugging off his thoughts, prepared to lean down and show her where the path was again, but was surprised when she managed to find it herself, just by brushing a leaf or two out of her way.

In a few more yards, she managed to turn with the trail successfully. After a few extra paces, she realized what she had done and turned to him with an even brighter smile on her face. The increase in the wattage of her smile had that urge pulling at him again, to pull her in closer—not literally, of course—and try to figure out how it worked.

"I did it!" she called, as she threw her arms joyfully up into the air. He brought a finger to his lips to tell her that she needed to be quieter, which prompted her to lower her arms and take a quick glance around. She was learning, he thought, as he watched her warily take in their surroundings, to the point where he trusted her enough to resist the urge to glance around as well, trusting her judgment that they were safe.

Instead, he kept his eyes on her face, watching as the anxiety eased back off of her expression and her excitement returned as she turned to him. "I did it," she said again, this time on an excessive whisper as she pointed towards the trail.

"Yeah," Daryl drawled, doing his best to resist the urge to laugh at her antics. "Can ya see where it goes next?"

Her forehead scrunched again as she turned back to the trail. When she struggled a bit, he brushed a few leaves out of her way. He saw her eyes turn towards him as she uttered, "lettin' me cheat?"

Daryl met her eyes, smirk in place. "Did ya know where the trail went?" he asked.

Beth hesitated for a second as her eyes scanned the ground. He knew instantly when she'd finally found it, all from her face. "That's not the point," she said with yet another smile, as her eyes continued to focus on the trail.

After a few more steps forward, he came to a halt and gently grasped her arm to pull her down next to him. "See how they're gettin' sharper?" he asked as he traced a finger around the outside of the print. He waited for her to nod her head yes—although her doing so impressed him; it was awful early for her to be able to distinguish that small of a change. "Means we're gettin' closer."

When they resumed standing, he took lead, swinging his bow around and holding it at the ready with his left hand. Daryl noticed, as they approached, that Beth, despite seeing her hovering behind him out of the corner of his eyes, seemed to hardly breath. She had improved on her noise level already.

He found the rabbit just a few feet ahead and, before he settled himself to the task of taking it out, he reached back with his right hand and fumbled for her arm again, not daring to take his eyes off of his prey. Once she realized what he was trying to do, she seemed to find his hand and allowed him to guide her forward, until she was standing right beside of him. He used her own hand to point out the rabbit's location and she quickly nodded, comprehending what he intended to show her.

As she started to pull her arm back, he snapped to resume his hold on her hand, as he chose to follow an impulse, guiding her towards the trigger. Daryl released her for a second as he placed his own hand over the trigger and waited for her to understand what he wanted her to do.

It took her a few moments, but she figured it out, thankfully before their dinner hopped off. Beth's hand mimicked his exact hold on the trigger and, as a result, followed his movements as he released an arrow seconds later.

It was an easy kill for Daryl. But that didn't seem to matter to Beth, who threw her hands up in the air again as he moved forward to grab their dinner.

"Knew I'd do it!" she said, although fortunately not in the yell she had used earlier.

"Just the first lesson," he reminded her as they started to move back towards the camp.

"But I passed," she reminded him as she leaned her head towards him, almost as if she were challenging him to disagree.

Daryl settled for simply nodding, not sure what else he could say to her.

:::~:::

"So your daddy taught you how to do this, right?"

Beth's voice drew him from the numbness his brain had previously been enjoying. Had she chosen any other subject than his Pa, maybe he wouldn't have been complaining. Even so, where he would've previously grunted no real answer, as a way of telling her this was a no-go area, he allowed his eyes to wander up to hers.

He had decided, in the time since the sun had gone down and they had returned from their tracking training, that he could use her apparent need to read his eyes against her a bit. If he met her eyes, even if only just for a moment, and saw her looking intently into his, he knew she was looking for something. Now, whether he could tell what she was after was a whole other matter, but he could try.

"Trackin'?" he asked, his eyes returning to his portion of the rabbit.

When she didn't answer, his eyes snapped up to meet hers in question. She nodded as soon as his eyes found hers, making him suspect she may be trying to sneakily find ways to get him to look at her.

"And Merle," he responded, moving his eyes back to glue them in place on his remaining bits of rabbit.

"When did they start? Trainin' you, that is."

"Real young," he said, glancing up at her briefly, only to berate himself for it a second later. "Can't even really 'member."

"Who was the better teacher?" she asked and he could feel his cheeks start to burn instantly. They were moving towards dangerous territory, but he tried to keep himself in check and remind himself that she didn't know that, that there was no way she could know that.

"Merle," he answered, without hesitation. But he didn't choose to elaborate any further.

He could tell by the sight his peripherals provided that she was surprised by that answer. She seemed to stop and think for a second, almost as if she didn't know how to go from here.

"From what I knew of Merle…" she trailed off, but resumed talking before too long. "I guess I just thought he wouldn't make for a good teacher."

"Didn't say he was a good teacher, just said he was better."

Daryl expected her to bark at him, criticize him, but he was surprised when she actually smiled and released one small laugh. "You're right," she confirmed. He could still feel those eyes on him. "That was what I asked, wasn't it? But they were obviously at least decent," she started again. "You're very good with…all this," she finished as he saw her wave to the woods around them.

Against his will, his damn eyes drew up to meet hers again. He forced them away a moment later, as he shrugged, trying his best to look casual.

"Not all a'that was them," he said. "Got inta some situations as a kid, learned real quick what I needed to do."

"Like what?" she asked. His eyes came up again as he watched her place her bowl on the ground in front of her. She had to be hungry; he knew she had to be. Yet, here she was, putting down their first real food in a few days to listen to what he had to say.

It made it difficult for him to take his eyes off of her. And talking around things? That became damn near impossible.

"Got lost lots, had to find my own way back," he said, trying his best to make a last effort to talk around the subject she seemed so adamant on.

"Didn't anyone come lookin' for you?"

Her words drew his eyes on her immediately. It was almost the exact same response Andrea had given when he said that to her. That felt like decades ago, when he thought back to it.

But in some ways, having this conversation with Beth—especially in hearing her use those particular words—it felt familiar and comfortable. He realized Beth maybe had a few things in common with Andrea—they had both almost chosen to opt out, only to be persuaded otherwise. In a lot of ways, Beth's choice was even stronger, more solid, than Andrea's, thanks to Andrea herself, who had forced Lori and Maggie to let her make her own choice.

From then on, Daryl had noticed they both worked to change the way they lived. Although, based on Andrea's choice in dudes, he had to admit Beth seemed to have a bit of a clearer head—able to read those around her better than any of the others, maybe even better than Michonne.

"Nah," he said, his eyes still locked on hers. "Between the old man and Merle—" he interrupted himself as he thought on how he wanted to respond. "Guess ya could say they was usually too busy to be missin' me."

Her expression immediately turned disgusted. Her ignorance to just how horrible his family could be didn't frustrate him or anger him, as it had a few days ago. He knew this was at the root of how she was able to stay so positive, hold that smile in place. He hated to admit it, but, by this point, he was almost as interested in exploring this as she was, just to see it from her point of view.

"What could've been so important that they didn't notice you were gone?"

Daryl shrugged again, never taking his eyes off of her. "Pa drunk as a skunk, most likely. Merle—maybe doin' another stint in Juvie or high with some girl he found at a bar."

He watched as she bit her lip again, but, despite the fact that it was the same move, it was somehow different than when she was lost in thought. Daryl thought maybe that she wasn't quite sure how to respond, as the silence continued to roll on.

"That's horrible," she said simply, her eyes still on his.

"Taught me what I needed ta know," he responded. "And I always made my way back."

"This happened more than once?" she asked with a cough, almost as if she had choked temporarily on her own air supply.

Daryl simply nodded in response, not sure what else to say on the issue, but interested to hear what she had to say. "That's unacceptable," she said, as her eyes lowered in disbelief. "For them to have such disregard—to just not even care—to not even _worry_."

"They weren't good people," he said and watched as her eyes came to his again.

"I knew that," she responded softly, with a small nod. "Obviously," she clarified as she continued. "Experiencing Merle first hand was anything but enjoyable."

Daryl didn't take any offense, as he recalled their previous conversation on her defense of his brother. He knew that she had had no mixed feelings for Merle, but she had at least tried to make the best of the arrangement. He was still appreciative of her for that.

"You know," she began, seeming to comprehend the understanding he was trying to convey to her with little more than a glance. She got it far easier than he had even expected her to. He tried to push away the frustration and hone in on the curiosity it brought on instead.

Normally, he thought, he could read people relatively well. Nowhere near as good as she seemed able to, but he was no slouch. But, when it came to her, he was frustratingly lacking. "I was so mad at you," she continued as she looked briefly, embarrassingly to her shoes, only to look back towards him.

"When?" he asked, not finding that hard to believe at all. He could be a dick; there was no denying it anymore, not after the moonshine shack.

"When you didn't return from that rescue mission," she clarified. "When you chose Merle over us…over the family we had created at the prison."

Beth paused and let her eyes linger momentarily on his face, but he didn't give her a response. He thought, if roles were reversed, she would be able to pick up on the fact that he wasn't done and would wait him out—make him continue. He thought this might be one of those times when she needed to not be done, so he held his silence as he patiently waited for her to continue, in the hopes that he was right.

"I mean," she continued, and, had Daryl not been so enthralled in what she had to say, he would've found it very difficult to bite back a smile at his success in reading her and the conversation. "I understood it, of course. Family was always important to me—we've talked about what I would do to get Maggie or Glenn back.

"But as soon as you didn't return, as soon as you chose Merle over us, I knew, from that moment, from my frustration and anger and my reaction, that there was more than one definition of family, and that I no longer considered just my daddy and my sister my family.

"I had expanded that group to include you—and the others," she interrupted herself, almost as if she were startled. It confused him—what had happened? Had she said something she didn't mean? She started talking again before he could really think about it.

"And I had thought you, and the others, had done so too. It made me think I had read the situation wrong, or that I had gotten too invested in a world where nothing was stable. That I had carelessly fooled myself into thinking the world could be like it used to be, before everything went wrong, just like the silly teenage girl everyone thought I was." When she was done, she had tears in her eyes, but he noticed she seemed to refuse to let them fall. Beth looked away for just a moment, to seemingly gather herself.

"But…" she trailed off as her eyes came back to his and her smile returned full force. "Then you came back. With Merle, of course. But, you came _back_. And I realized I wasn't alone. That, at the very least, you knew what it meant, to be a family in this new world."

There was too much there; he couldn't process it as fast as she was throwing it out. But, one particular thing interested him, and allowed him to focus where he wanted to go from here.

"Why were ya so angry?"

He was afraid she might need him to clarify, but, as always, she seemed to know exactly what he was asking, even if he didn't.

Beth released a deep breath, but not as if she were frustrated with the question, more like she was just thinking it over, trying to figure out how to respond. "It's sorta tied to what we talked about at the moonshine shack," she started, as her eyes came up to meet his again. "You said you thought I would think you were better than just a common criminal. And I did. If anything proves it, it's this right here."

Her words left Daryl wanting nothing more than to ask her to clarify, but he didn't want to seem too eager. He decided to wait her out instead, although it seemed to nearly kill him to do so.

"I just," she resumed, as she shifted a bit before meeting his eyes again. "I guess I had thought you were _better_ somehow. That you wouldn't just blindly follow your brother this time. I knew, you know, back when we were on the farm, that there was a conflict over going to look for him and that things hadn't gone according to plan. Every once in a while it would come up and I remember that. But, since then, since that winter on the road, I hadn't heard much about it, so I assumed it had resolved itself.

"When I heard that I had been wrong, that you had chosen Merle over us, I guess I just felt…betrayed. I had thought that you had changed, become your own person in this world, someone who didn't just follow orders from a manipulative older brother. I guess…" she trailed off, almost as if she were afraid to say what she was thinking. He found himself hoping she found the courage to say it. "I was disappointed in you. I had thought you were a better man than that."

Silenced rolled on as he watched her, seemingly unable to look away. He didn't quite know what to say to that. Part of him hoped she would carry on for just a little bit longer, to buy him some time to form his thoughts.

As always, she didn't disappoint on the talking front. "But I was wrong, wasn't I?" she asked, her smile returning at full brightness. "You came back, just as I had hoped you would."

He knew then, what he had to say. "I knew as soon as I made the choice that it'd'a been the wrong one," he started, looking back to his bowl. It was harder to look at her when he was the one doing the talking. "I just wasn't the same—couldn't just follow him no more. Started pushin' and he didn't like that none."

"Pushing about what?" she asked. He saw out of the corner of his eyes that she was leaning in.

He shrugged as he let his eyes meet hers. "Didn't like the way he was doin' things 's'all."

"What did he do?" she asked so quietly he barely heard her over the fire.

Daryl felt his shoulders shrug again as he looked at the fire, anything to pull his eyes from hers. "Just…just didn't agree on how things should be handled."

She was waiting him out, just like he had done earlier. He could almost feel it, as her eyes held their position on his face, which still failed to return her stare. Daryl did his best to prolong responding, but he knew there was a reason this tactic worked. Silence was too prevalent in their world—it became unbearable when suffered through too long.

"We heard screamin'," he started as his damn eyes ran up to hers again. "Found a baby and a family up on a bridge. I knew, soon as I heard the baby, couldn't'a just left 'em. So I ran up there, took out the Walkers with a bit'a help from Merle. Turned 'round and he's tryin' to rob 'em. Spoutin' some redneck bullshit about needin' an enchilada for our troubles. Had to pull my bow on 'im to get him to knock it the hell off.

"That was the start, I guess. Knew after that we were in for a long night. Weren't gone from the bridge for two seconds before he was flippin' all his shit, yellin' at me for pointing my bow at him."

Daryl stopped to take a breath and realized his eyes were still on hers. He wasn't used to that and felt like he should try to look away, at least until he could finish talking, but they just pulled him in. If it didn't intrigue him so damn much he'd hate it.

"From there, just'a buncha issues from the past."

"Like what?" she asked. He could tell she was curious, but she also seemed a bit hesitant. He thought maybe she didn't want to push him too far, make him backtrack. He felt like that was maybe something he should be feeling, but he didn't—which only confused him more.

"Started with me leavin' him in Atlanta, forcin' him to cut off his damn hand."

"But, you didn't—"

"I know," he grumbled before releasing a deep breath. He had had this argument with himself far too many times. But not really since that last talk with Merle. "I know," he repeated, his tone back to sounding a bit more calm. "I told him it was him and his damn mouth that lost him his hand, not me. Merle just said it wasn't just me, it was Rick and how much he thought I was up the Sheriff's ass."

For the first time in several minutes, he looked away from her as he shuffled his foot a bit in the dirt. He knew what came next, what Merle had found out. "There were other things too," he said, his voice quieter than he was used to it being, as his eyes stayed trained on the mess he was making with the dirt. "Things from the past, things from long time 'go."

When he looked back up to her, he made sure to close off his face a bit, like he used to. There was no way in hell he was talking about that particularly nasty bit of his past. Not yet, anyway. He hadn't told no one about what his old man had done to him—no one except Merle, that is, and he only found out because of his own damn interference—prying that came too late and was still far too little.

"Don't matter," he said, cutting off a breath she had taken, undoubtedly to ask him further questions. "I told him I was goin' back and that if he wanted ta stick together that was how it was gonna be.

"We should turn in," he continued as he started to move to put the fire out. "Got more trainin' ta do tomorrow."

"I'm glad you did," she said softly and he looked up at her as the fire died before them. He could still see that damn smile, even in how little light was left. "Come back, that is."

Without another word, she got herself up and seemed to settle in for another night of sleeping on the ground. His eyes watched her actions, completely unaware that he was watching her so intently until she had settled herself in for the night. Snapping himself out of it, he did the same, even as her words echoed over and over again in his head, all the way to the sun started to rise the very next morning.


	12. Teaching and Learning Part II

**This was a hard chapter to write. I actually ended up chucking a big chunk of it this morning and rewriting it. I'm much more satisfied with it now, though, so I hope you guys are as well! **

Daryl had never had someone rely on him before. And it wasn't even so much that Beth was relying on him—she was getting better with tracking and hunting with every lesson.

Judging by the change in the weather, it had been at least a month since the prison had fallen. One month, with literally no one but Beth to rely on.

Because that was it—it wasn't just that she relied on him. He relied on her. Those first few weeks were rough, as he did nothing but sulk and bask in his guilt for the attack on the prison. But, by now, they were able to actually rely on each other, in a way that seemed to say more than just surviving.

They would talk, train, eat, sleep and repeat all over again the very next day. It wasn't much, but it almost seemed like a life—almost like what they had had at the prison.

That thought scared him. He had fooled himself there—fooled into thinking they could stay forever, that life could return to normal. Part of him didn't want to make that mistake again.

But another part, an almost even bigger part, craved for the stability all over again. His life with his old man and Merle had never been stable—moving around with no steady job, no nothing, really.

He and Beth moved camp every other day, but that didn't bother his sense of stability. No, _she_ seemed so sturdy, so steady. She made him feel like they could make it out here, as long as they were together.

Andrea had been right, just as he had told her. No one could do it alone anymore. Not even him.

As he looked up and saw Beth shake out her arm from the strain of holding his crossbow, he knew they had both been right. As much as he hadn't wanted to admit it when they had first escaped together, he was relieved she was by his side. He may not have always wanted it to be her, but he knew that having someone by him kept him going.

And little had he known that she would do more than just keep him going. The littlest Greene seemed to have a particular talent for worming into his brain and making him rethink things. There was no way he could say he completely understood her, or the way she thought and processed things. But he liked to think he was getting better, by observing her, questioning her just as she questioned him.

They relied on each other, he supposed. But that was how it was supposed to be. He may have started out as her protector, but that wasn't just his sole role anymore. Neither one of them did just one thing anymore. No one did, really, if they wanted to do more than just survive.

"Too heavy for ya?" he asked, feeling his smirk hit his face again.

Beth must've heard it in his voice, as she threw a glare at him over her shoulder. "No, it's just no small feat."

This was the first time she had held the bow completely on her own. Tracking was no longer an issue; she could almost do that all by herself now. He figured it was time to move forward, give her another challenge.

As they approached the squirrel they had been tracking for a bit, he waited for her to spot it. From her location a bit behind him, but not horrifically so, he knew when she saw it immediately, by the way her body stiffened. With a struggle, she started to bring the bow up to line up the shot. Very quietly, he eased in behind her to correct her stance as she waited patiently, finger poised near the trigger, but not quite ready to shoot yet.

"Don't take your eyes off'a it," he said quietly as he repositioned her arms a bit. Beth nodded in response as her mouth formed an O apparently in an attempt to force herself to breathe normally. "Follow it," he said, as the squirrel scurried a few feet up a tree. His fingers ran over her right arm to slide it back into place after she adjusted.

"This leg," he started again as he tapped her right thigh with a finger two or three times. "Draw it back a bit, widen your stance." She did as he asked. "Square that foot off," he added, tapping the right foot. Daryl smiled when she slid it into a right angle.

Taking one last look at her, he thought she was as prepared as she could be. "You're ready," he whispered, not quite moving away just yet. He didn't want any movements to disturb their catch, even as the squirrel moved back down the tree.

Beth followed the creature. He did one last scan of her stance before she released the arrow, missing, but not by much.

She sighed, but not necessarily in a frustrated way. "Sorry," she mumbled as she turned to him after the squirrel was long gone. He almost smiled at her unnecessary apology.

"Didn't think ya'd get it on the first try. Yer still learnin'," he said as he retrieved the arrow and reloaded the bow. When he turned back to face her a laugh actually came out of him at seeing her rubbing her arms and shoulders.

"It's heavy," she said a bit heatedly, but the smile and the small chuckle told him there wasn't any harm in it.

"You'll get used'ta it," he said as they turned to try to pick up another trail, no words necessary for them each to know their next step at this point.

:::~:::

"Thank you." She heard the words release from her mouth before she even really knew her mind had settled on saying them. She had been meaning to share her gratitude with him, for days now actually. But she hadn't known how to do it without making it sound as if it were forced.

His eyes came to meet hers, but she noticed he quickly forced them away form hers. He had been doing that a lot lately, she noted. Beth suspected it was becoming his default inclination to meet her eyes when they talked, which was precisely what she had hoped would come to happen.

"Ain't nothin'," he said, his eyes lowered to his shoes once again. But, if she wasn't mistaken, there seemed to be a slight flush to his cheeks.

Beth also noticed that there had been a time, not too long ago, when he would've needed a clarification from her on what she was talking about. She was rather impressed by how well she and Daryl seemed to be progressing in terms of communication. Although there were obviously still many facets of him—his past and his personality in particular—that remained a mystery to her.

"Yes it is!" she called, albeit relatively quietly. "It's just…" she trailed off as she wondered how she should proceed. "I wanted to change, to not need to rely on someone for protection. And you're helping me do that."

"Already told ya, you did it. Long 'fore now."

She nodded, clearly remembering their conversation on the porch of their moonshine shack. Even though it was long gone, burned down by their very hands, she would never not consider it utterly and completely theirs.

"Maybe to some extent," she acknowledged with a slight toss of her head. "But nothing like this!"

"Don't go gettin' ahead'a yourself," he responded as his face came up to meet hers. The smile she saw there was warming; he did it so rarely that it made her enjoy it even more when he did. "Still can't even really hold the damn thing," he continued as he held up his bow.

"I told you," she said, her smile only brightening. "It's _heavy_."

"Won't be forever," he said with a shrug as he looked forward. Beth briefly glanced down, just to check that they were still on the trail. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him notice what she was doing and smiled again as she saw what she suspected was pride on his face.

"I just…" she trailed off as she met his eyes again. This time, she noticed, he didn't look away. "For so long I was just in the background—Judith's caretaker, occasionally fence worker. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Don't get me wrong," she spoke again with a start. "I adore Judith and taking care of her is just…it was a highlight of every single day. But, I'm glad I can do more now."

He remained silent and, for some reason, beyond her own control, she felt compelled to continue.

"When I first found out that Lori was pregnant," she began, feeling a flush take over her own cheeks at the thought of what she was about to disclose. But it was something she had carried the weight of for a long time, something that needed to be put to bed. "It was right after the barn," she continued, knowing he would understand what she meant.

"And I was in such a bad place. Well, everyone was, really. I know that now," she said as she paused to meet his eyes, which she was intrigued to see were still glued to her face. "I said something I shouldn't have, to Lori. I asked her how she could do that—even think of bringing a child into this world.

"In the heat of the moment, I let myself say something that I shouldn't have." She stopped speaking for a moment to look ashamedly at her shoes. But his blue eyes called hers back. "I've always regretted that."

"She knew ya didn't mean it," he said and Beth felt an instinctive smile hit her face at the thought that he seemed to say this for no other purpose than to comfort her, to make her feel better.

But, still, her head shook. "But I did," she reaffirmed as she looked shamefully to her shoes again. "At the time, I did," she repeated with a sigh. When she looked up to the sky, she found herself saying more things she hadn't necessarily expected. "I always wanted to have a kid, you know, before the world changed and made it so dangerous. It was part of why I wanted to—wanted to…just end it," she settled on as she turned to him briefly.

"I remember thinking, what was the point of trying to actually _live _in this world—and I just don't mean _existing_. No, that's surviving. I meant to try to do things like start a family, find a means of providing, assemble a close group of people you could always count on—if my chances of being merely able to survive were so poor that everyone felt the need to coddle me? How could I learn to _live_ again, when I couldn't even manage to survive? Or, at least, that was how everyone else perceived me."

She shook her head again. "I just thought…what's the point of carrying on, of trying to survive, if I don't know if I'll ever be able to truly _live _again?"

Beth's eyes met Daryl's again and the curiosity that looked back at her startled her, although she supposed it shouldn't have. He had been looking at her like that a lot lately, and she wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

"And then Andrea left me alone. Feeling that pain answered my question for me. Feeling pain, going through loss and suffering—_that's _what made it worth it. The loss of the farm, of the prison. None of it is so bad as to be worth your life. Giving yourself the opportunity to at least try, to give it your all and make a go of _living_—that alone makes it worth it to get out of bed every morning, to try your hardest just to _survive_.

"Ironically," she continued, with a humorless laugh as she looked back to the ground, but only for a second. "Before the prison fell, it was Little Ass Kicker that reminded me of that the most. I hope, wherever Lori is, she knows how much her sacrifice is appreciated," she finished as she looked to the sky, as if out of habit.

"And now?" he asked, shocking her as he did so. She turned back to him sharply, looking for an answer in his eyes. As he almost always did—when he actually managed to look at her, that is—he afforded every answer to every unasked question she could have there; there was never any real need for him to detail his questions, so long as he managed to look at her.

"Now," she started with a sigh, thinking there was no way he couldn't possibly know the answer already. But, she thought in disbelief, his eyes seemed to indicate otherwise. "I have you, and I have us. If we can keep moving and pushing forward, I hope that, one day, we'll have our family back again. They've always reminded me too."

Daryl looked away from her then, and she could've sworn she saw him blush. Its presence on her cheeks surprised her, as she wasn't really sure precisely what she could've said to prompt any form of embarrassment from him.

She allowed him his moment in peace, as she looked back to the trail, eager to catch their dinner.

:::~:::

"What is it," he heard her ask from her spot lingering above his shoulder.

"Can't ya tell?" he asked, unable to stop a small smirk, even if it was only around for a few meager seconds.

"I've improved, Daryl, but you know I've only really worked with animal prints."

"So what is it, then?" he asked, coming to a stand again, right next to her. "If it ain't an animal, it's gotta be a…" he trailed off, waiting for her to finish the sentence.

"Human?" she asked, her eyes squinting.

He scoffed. "No—hell no."

She looked deep in thought for a second, almost as if it was some sort of puzzle she was trying to crack.

"A Walker?" she said with a gasp as she turned to him.

He nodded, but didn't really point out many details to her. The trail seemed pretty fresh; they needed to limit how much talking they did. Knowing this, he met her eyes and motioned for her to follow him, as he brought his bow up, armed and ready to go.

After just a few short seconds spent walking, he kneeled on one knee and placed a hand on her calf to stop her from walking. Reading his intention immediately, she halted and watched his hands and face closely as he did his best to communicate this newest lesson as silently as possible.

He needed to teach her to approach prey a bit stealthier. They were on the move, with all their packs in tow, but that was no excuse; silence could mean life or death out here. Beth had come a long way from their first deployment in the woods together after the prison had fallen, but there was still room for improvement.

Daryl brought one hand to rest on her toes, covered by the boots they had stolen weeks ago. He noticed they looked a bit worn and reminded himself to ask her later if she needed a new pair. Prompted by the placement of his first, which pressed on her toes to shift her pressure a bit, his other hand managed to wedge a bit under her heel.

"Place more weight here," he whispered, running a finger across the line of her toes. "Heels are what do all the talkin'."

Beth nodded, showing her comprehension.

"Roll the step," he said, standing to show her how to roll her foot back to lighten the strain her heel was making. "Avoid leaves too, whenever ya can."

She nodded once more and they were quickly back on their way. Much better, he couldn't help but think, as he barely even heard her behind him. With a short, small smile, he heard her taking her knife out of its holster. She was getting better at this.

This time, much like the last, she didn't scream. However, the last time she had found herself in this position, he practically felt the tension coming off of her, even when she was out of his eyesight. This time, he realized, she was prepared; he barely even heard her draw in one gasp of breath before he turned to see the Walker's hand gripping her arm tight, and hers shoving her knife in the Walker's eye, straight up to the hilt.

Beth stepped back and tried to pull her weapon from the eye. After two or three attempts, he saw that she managed it and the Walker came crumbling down to the forest floor.

"Just like the fence," he heard her whisper as she wiped her weapon on some leaves on the ground.

"Just like the fence," he confirmed, remembering how good she had become at that and looking to reaffirm that she could do this.

"Just one?" she looked to him quickly, seeking confirmation from the tracks.

He glanced down quickly to check that his original assessment had been right. "Yep," he said. "Just one."

:::~:::

There was never just one. She should've remembered that. But, they had been very lucky, thus far, in their travels through the woods. They had seen Walkers, of course, but never more than a handful, and never to the point where they needed to consider an exit strategy.

As soon as she felt the cold hand on her arm, something instinctually told her they would need one now, even as her eyes refused to readjust focus, to take in the total in their population.

Instead, she released her knife from its sheath on her belt and set to work. Out of the corner of her eye, she verified that Daryl was in the thick of the fighting as well. Had the situation not become pressing, she would've perhaps smiled at how in his element he looked.

Several seconds later, on yet another cursory glance thrown his way to check that he was, in fact, true to his nature and surviving the fight, she grew concerned that he was in the process of getting boxed in, nothing but a drop at his back.

Just as she saw him throw a Walker over the hill to buy himself some time, her attention was forced from him, as another cold and obviously long-dead hand clamped down on her arm, the fingers holding a shockingly strong grip for something that clearly lacked proper circulation.

She tugged, but the measure did no good, only serving to draw the Walker closer to her, its mouth open and its decaying teeth chomping at the bit. She tugged again, desperately seeking to find some mobility for her dominant arm, the only one she trusted to succeed in the issue of deploying the knife in anything remotely lethal.

Beth heard what could only be labeled as a growl issued from behind her. Briefly, she grew concerned that another Walker had sped up its approach, found it's way to her to help the other take her down.

But, of course, it was no Walker. Suddenly Daryl's hand was on her arm as well, right next to the grip of the dead. He released a growl in exertion once more, as he tugged with force she wouldn't have been able to muster.

The move met its end, succeeding in throwing them backwards and out of the prying hand of the Walker. The force of the move, the sheer anger Daryl had exerted to get them back on supposedly safe ground, rendered the very ground in question null and void; their new weight and the force at which it approached was simply too much for the overhang and, before she knew it, they were tumbling.

Daryl fell further than her, of that she was sure. She tucked herself in, doing her best to roll to the side of a boulder and use her body to come to a stop. Even as she shakily got to her feet, she could still hear that he was in transport, ruffling along in the leaves in the process. She searched frantically for him, immediately in a panic that she couldn't find him.

It took a moment that felt as if it were an eternity, but she finally spotted him, at the very end of the hill, next to what appeared to be a creek.

He was no longer moving, but he had yet to regain his stance on his feet. On that sheer fact alone, she simply knew something had to be wrong; Daryl Dixon did not just lie down and accept defeat.

Beth rushed over to him, squatting at his side as she placed a hand on his arm and gave him a bit of a shake, hoping to refocus his obviously out of focus eyes.

"Daryl," she whispered, as she recalled how they had found this position to begin with. She spared one glance for the remaining Walkers. She was immediately grateful to see that they continued to hold their place on the top of the hill, but she knew that would not be the case for long.

"We need to move," she said, her eyes coming back to his even quicker than they had left. "The Walkers," she started, as she cast another glance toward their company, only to see one poking its foot towards the newly produced cliff. "Well, they haven't fallen yet, but it won't be long," she started, as she turned back to him. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah," he responded and, although he sounded rather indignant at her assumption that he was some form of an invalid, she was relieved beyond measure that he didn't seem injured; she released a breath she hadn't even realized she had been holding in.

Regardless of his words, and the bite they had previously held, she knew, as soon as he regained his stance on his feet, that he had no room to be boasting. He could walk, she could see, but it held none of his usual decorum, none of his usual grace, which had always served to impress her. This was worrisome, but the hiss he released through clenched teeth a moment later was downright terrifying to her ears.

"What is it?" she asked frantically, at his side in an instant, hand gripping his arm as he faltered a bit.

"Ain't nothin'," he said, his tone gruff as always. "'m fine."

Beth rather thought that if this was his definition of fine, they had severely differing opinions on the matter. "You don't look fine," she insisted, her voice holding a bit of that same edge it had outside their moonshine shack. He never could just admit he needed help.

Judging by the fall they had both just suffered, and the injury she had nearly sustained, she knew instinctually what needed to be checked over. Her daddy's teachings immediately took hold of her mind, operating her hands without her even really noticing that she had passed on the notification for it to do so.

Her hands started to wander to the hem of his flannel sleeveless shirt. She had laid one pad of a finger on the material before his hands were suddenly at her, pushing her arms away.

Immediately her eyes sought out his. Why on earth would he refuse this request? They had shared so much, come so far. Surely he couldn't be embarrassed to show her his torso?

He wouldn't meet her eyes, which immediately told her there was far more to this story than she had expected there to be.

She recalled that day, when Nelly had thrown him and he suffered that horrible tumble over the hill—_twice_—only to be shot by Andrea upon his return. Several of them had cared for him over the course of the next few days—her daddy, of course, and Carol could never be kept away. But even Beth had gone to see him on occasion, if her daddy was otherwise engaged—probably preoccupied by arguing with the Sheriff, she thought with a barely repressed laugh.

Every time she had knocked and opened the door, he was in the process of pulling those sheets up to the very tip of his chin, as far up as they could possibly go without submerging him in the material entirely.

She had previously thought this could be the hint of an added insecurity in an increasingly complex man. Now, as she stood here, taking in the blush on his cheeks, and the set of his eyes—so determinedly fixed on the water to her left—she wondered if there wasn't another reason entirely.

"Daryl," she started again, her voice oddly shaky to her own ears. "You're injured," she stated, as if it were obvious. "You need to let me take care of it, so we can move on and get away from those Walkers."

She knew he was hesitant—beyond hesitant, if the look leeching all over his face was to serve as any indication. But, above all else, she knew Daryl to be a logical man. Eventually, he would see reason—see that she needed to tend to his wounds so they could move forward to find safety. Surely nothing could ever stand in his way of seeing that…right?

"I'm fine," he repeated, making sure to enunciate every last syllable. It sounded so strange to her; he usually sought to skip as many syllables as he could.

"Maybe," she started, with a nod, refusing to look away from him. That brought his eyes back to hers; she smiled, as she realized he rather thought it wasn't like her not to put up at least a little bit of a fight. He was right. "But maybe not. I won't know 'till I can have a look at you."

He said nothing, as he looked towards the water once more. "I'm no baby. Gonna be just fine," he answered. Beth did her best not to smile and chuckle at the thought that, in this particular moment, he rather did sound like a baby.

"Does it hurt?"

"No," he answered, all too quickly. It only broadened her smile.

"Look over there," she said, pointing across the waterway to a tiny cabin that resided on the bank.

"So? Don't look like much."

"It isn't," she said, with a small laugh, doing her best to push past his petulant predisposition. "But it'll be more than enough room to patch you up," she started, as she took the matter out of his hand entirely and took a few steps forward. "Can't stay long, though," she called over her shoulder, casting one last wary glance in the direction of the Walkers. "Those Walkers'll smell us a mile off."

"Listen—" he started.

"No," she turned to face him once more, her smile dropping as she sought to convey the severity of the situation. "You listen. I can't have you injured on my watch, you hear? We…W—We rely on each other," she settled on through her stuttering, even as she continued to struggle to find the right word to label their relationship.

"You hurt, I hurt. You're in danger, I'm in danger. No, it's simple," she stated with a sigh of frustration, even as he tried to interrupt her. "Gotta take care of you, heal you up and get us back on our way."

With one last smile, she took in his face for the briefest of moments before she turned to take the creek. Despite the brevity of her observation, his expression remained locked in her mind, as if she had managed to take a snapshot of his very features.

He wasn't submitting by any means—when did he ever? But he did seem to reside himself to the inevitability of this, blush ever-evident as he did so. Perhaps, she thought, her words had affected him, but how? She hadn't really said anything that wasn't accepted fact; they both knew that their isolation came with an implicit dependence and reliance; they literally had no one else in the world. Even knowing this, as she knew he did, did he still think she would not share in his pain?

But, then, she realized, Merle and his father had never thought like that. You didn't share in each other's pain; you reveled in it.

It would take time, she realized, to rid him of that impulse, that gut instinct that seemed to say that was how everyone around him perceived his pain—as something for entertainment, something for enjoyment. It would take time, she knew, for him to grow from assuming this as the default reasoning behind people's reactions. But she was more than willing to remind him sometimes, even if it took months or, maybe, she thought, even _years_.

The thought of her dedication drew her attention straight to its manifestations. It never once occurred to her that he might choose to not follow her across the creek to the cabin, even as his feet took several lingering seconds to follow suit. That just wasn't how things were done now, she realized.

She wasn't sure when things had changed, when she had become assured that he would follow her wherever she chose to go; but, equally, she thought, she couldn't pinpoint when she had made the very same decision. It was simply how things were now—there was no other alternative.

Beth set herself to work immediately after walking through the door. She pulled a chair out from underneath what appeared to be a makeshift dining room set, consisting of pieces that were of slightly better quality than the lawn furniture evident in their moonshine shack, but it was not by much of a measure. The chair was released from the cover of the table, but only by a few inches, as she dug in her bag for the first aid kit she had collected from the car trunk they had called home for one horribly long evening.

Daryl, she noticed, out of the corner of her eye, had yet to move. His bow was still in place over his vest and his stance was rigid as ever. The only thing that appeared to move were his eyes, as he followed her movements and actions closely, even as she made her way to the kitchen in search for some form of alcohol to serve as a disinfectant.

As she combed through the cabinets, she heard him release another hiss. Her eyes immediately snapped to him, only to find that he had finally removed his bow, at the very least. His hand had wandered up under his shirt and was running presumably over the wound. He showed no pain—when did he ever?—but she could tell that his evaluation did not correspond to what he had hoped to find.

"Sit down, please" she said, as she finally gripped a bottle of vodka. She returned to what she supposed she should call the living room/kitchen area and tapped on the back of the chair for emphasis. Daryl's eyes stayed on hers for a moment, and she saw the concern and near nervousness there; it checked the order she was about to release at the close—that he would need to take his shirt off to afford her the ease of care to tend to the wound.

He seemed so off-center. She had only seen him like this maybe once or twice, most frequently in their sharing at their moonshine shack. It roused her suspicions, whispered hints to her on what may be coming.

With that, she knew she could issue no directive for him to take off the shirt. If she was right, and this was what was causing such deep concern in him, she knew he needed to make the move on his own.

He removed his vest and placed it on the bed, to reside next to his bow. Beth had never seen him move so slowly; his actions usually reeked of impatience and acute restlessness. Daryl seemed to be thinking things over, and moving slowly as a means of buying himself some time.

She thought, perhaps, that he was recalling the sharing they had engaged in. Beth knew, beyond a shade of doubt, that he had shared things with her he had failed to even tell Merle. It seemed to her he was trying to weigh his options; suffer through the untreated injury, or allow her to see it—everything, whatever it was he had to offer. She would accept either response, she supposed, although she did find herself wishing that he would continue on in their trajectory.

For it wasn't just him who had shared, who had exposed things—parts of himself that no one else had the privilege to experience. She had shared too—some of her darkest insecurities and secrets.

While she felt certain that what she considered dark and dirty skeletons in her closet did nothing to measure up to his, she hoped that he could continue to learn from her example. Beth had hoped he was learning from her—learning that everyone needed someone, someone with whom they could share anything. She had hoped—given the wonderfully cathartic experience that was their moonshine shack—that he had learned his lesson; that he could continue to relate to her, rely on her—learn from her.

This, she realized, would be the test. This would be the measure by which she had succeeded, by which she had earned his trust.

The silence pressed on, as she found her feet carrying her in his direction. "You okay?" she asked, placing a hand on his shoulder and gripping slightly. She left the question at those two words, not wishing to push to add any inflection, as to keep the potential for topics open-ended.

As she issued an additional squeeze to his shoulder, his eyes found hers, but only for the briefest of moments, as he turned away and removed his shirt in one swift move.

As the shirt came off, she resolved herself to setting her eyes to his. She didn't know why, but it felt like that was what she _needed _to do—what _he _needed her to do. Beth needed to show him that, whatever answers his back had the power to afford, it didn't matter to her—didn't change her perception of him in the slightest.

Even with her resolve, her eyes could still offer peripheral sights. She need not look away to know what he had been so fearful of her seeing, and it broke her heart.

It broke her heart, as she saw the particularly purple and aged scar creeping over his left shoulder. It broke her heart, as his eyes wandered up her arm to find hers. It broke her heart to see that strength there—that determination to deny any form of pity she had to offer him.

But it wasn't pity in her eyes. She could feel it, leeching out of her own—the sheer complexity and vast emotions that were fortunately so numbered that pity wasn't granted permission to rest among them. She felt unshed tears gather, as she held stubborn in her refusal to blink, her refusal to turn away from his eyes in the slightest.

So subtle that it was almost unperceivable, she saw him release one nod—one nod to issue his permission, his release of her dedication to hold his eyes. But she wasn't ready yet—wasn't ready to let him go, wasn't ready to leave him standing without the comfort and stability she had hoped she had to offer.

She held, maintaining her stare with him for what felt to be an additional century. It didn't bother her in the least, even as her brain vaguely noted the ache of her eyes, the desire they had to release her tears. But she didn't register it—not on a conscious level.

She knew, though, that she couldn't hold this for forever. She would eventually need to care for his wound, if nothing else. Finally, she gathered her courage and lowered her eyes to his back.

As soon as she released him, he moved slowly to the chair, his eyes adamantly avoiding hers. She followed him, her eyes frantically running over every inch of skin his back had to offer. More of it was purple than his usual tanned complexion, her mind remarked with a causality that failed to reflect the frantic mood of her mind and motion of her eyes—a force that had driven her brain into overdrive.

There were just so many scars. Most were long gashes, embedded deep in the skin; she could see the ridges and calluses formed by the process of scarring from a distance. Frantically, her mind wondered what it would feel like, if she were to weave her hand over them, particularly the one hovering over his left shoulder blade. Would she be able to feel his pain, there, buried deep under layers of skin? Would she even be able to experience a fraction of his suffering?

As she took in the full sight of it, her mind moved to calculate possibilities. It was almost as if this was her mind's newest fascination, meant to replace the questions on what his occupation had been before the turn.

But this was a different type of fixation, she noted. Where her curiosity as to how he had filled his time previous to the turn had been mild, serving in the pursuit of his personality, this was fiery, fueled to the brim with indignation. For perhaps the millionth time in her acquaintance with him, she found herself wondering how so many others could take him for granted, take all that he did as a given—a guarantee; the lack of appropriate 'thank yous' had been her previous peeve.

But, now, it would appear, that was of no concern. Someone—she shuttered to think who—had actually taken to beating his missteps into him. For she was almost certain that was the underlying cause; his mere misery and determination to believe in his supposed abundant failures resolved, to her, that no other option was a possibility.

But there were other scars there too—scars that obviously had different sources than whatever cruel hands and tools had taken his supposed shortcomings out of his back. She saw the wound her daddy had healed, where his own arrow managed to pierce his skin. There were others, too; scars she hadn't the slightest clue as to their origin.

And, just like that, she approached him. Even through the course of her frantic thoughts, she knew she hadn't truly hesitated; mere moments had passed, as she took in the sight of him sliding into the chair, his back still facing her.

Determined to hold her lack of hesitation, she moved straight to his back and settled into work. She didn't want him to think she was judging him, because she certainly wasn't. She judged whoever had put such a good man through such a horrible fate; but, he, in her eyes, had only risen in estimation.

The other scars had intrigued her, forced her into movement. She knew him intimately now, of course—any disillusions had fallen to the porch of their moonshine shack. But, even then, even curled in the living room of their shotty shack, she had known that Daryl still had so much to offer her—that he would _always_ have more to offer her and that, until her very last breath was drawn, she would take whatever he had to give, whenever he had to give it.

It was with this thought that she remained in silence. It wasn't that she failed to know what to say; abuse, while a foreign concept to her, didn't stir shyness in her. In truth, she doubted that would ever be the case between the two of them again; too much had passed between them for her to ever want for something to say. No, she thought, even when they were utterly silent, things passed between them—messages through eyes and body language and mere gestures.

But that was not the case now, as she held her peace. She wished not to push him, nor to pity him. She would not jump into this conversation with an issued apology; after all, it was not her fault that someone had struck against him and he would, therefore, see that endeavor as an empty endearment. She knew what his opinion on that matter would be as well as she knew her own mind.

But she would likewise not press upon him with questions, even as her mind started assembling so many at such a brisk rate that she could hardly keep up. She pushed them back, refusing to listen. No, she thought, she knew what she had to do.

Silence was key in their interactions. They both used it to allow the other to come to terms—to find comfort with what needed to be shared. She would wait for him, wait for him to tell her when he was ready—no matter if that was today or in one month or one year for now.

"It was a belt," he started, and he sounded nearly as startled at speaking as she was at hearing his voice. She had never expected to be blessed with his sharing so early. She was grateful, as her brain numbed completely to take in every last syllable he had to offer her.

"Old man'd get drunk as shit, get angry," he continued, as Beth's dazed mind worked to catch up with the conversation. Without wanting to, an image came to her—Daryl, young and frightened, taking the belt to his back. It made her cringe, but she was careful to not issue a sound; she didn't want to frighten him off of the courage the confession obviously required him to gather.

"Usually he'd find Merle first. But if Merle was off with some chick or in Juvie…" he trailed off as Beth felt her temper at war with itself, between who deserved more dislike—the father or the brother. "It'd be me."

She realized, in her desperate ploy to not release a single alerting sound, she had forgotten to breathe. As quietly as she could, she sought to reestablish a breathing pattern. It didn't work, as he carried on.

"I'd hid, 'course. In the closet, mostly." Another image came to her, and she felt as if she could retch as she saw Daryl—brave, strong, practically immortal Daryl—cowering in the corner of his closet. "But he'd always find me—weren't nothin' more 'an'a dumb kid, after all."

Did his daddy rip him from the closet? Grip his arm and tug him out by force? How did Daryl feel, as the door slid open and revealed his father—someone who should be kind and caring and affectionate—belt in hand? Did he shake? Did he get sick? Did he fight back?

No, she realized, as the cloth with the alcohol hovering over his newest wound weaved subtly towards another brutal scar along his lower back, he did not.

"Bastard could barely walk straight—forget seein' shit," he went on. "But he'd always find me. Didn't matter what he was angry at. I'd always get the belt."

She did her best to focus her hands on his wound, even as her eyes continued to scan his back.

"Sometimes, I'd actually do somethin' wrong—like steppin' on'a trail," he started, and she recalled quickly the distress in his eyes when he had reached to correct her actions. Now she knew preciously what lay behind that nervousness; he was programmed to equate stepping on the trail to a lashing from the belt.

Again, she felt as though she could retch. She swallowed it back, knowing she needed to keep her reactions in check; this was not about her or her thoughts on the matter in the least. He needed to get this out—had obviously carried it for far too long—and, for that, she was incredibly grateful, for the trust it showed he had in her, in _them_, in their life together.

"Then I'd really get it," he paused as his fingers ran up to the most horrible scar of all—the one that claimed his left shoulder blade. He almost seemed to point, as his index finger slipped over the very edge of the scar.

Daryl's body went even more rigid and she could've sworn she saw him cringe out of the corner of her eyes, which were still maintaining their hold on the wound at hand.

"And…after Merle left…" he trailed off as his face turned away, back to rest on his arms that served as padding against the raised back of the chair. She dug around unnecessarily in the first aid kit that resided on the table, looking for a distraction from what she knew was about to come. "It was all me."

She bit her lip, doing her best to check any and every reaction that begged to slip from her. Her breathing continued to be erratic, as she turned back to the wound.

"Merle…" he trailed off once again, releasing a rough breath of air. It occurred to her that it was really his first in the conversation as well. "Merle didn't know. Not 'till right before the end."

He didn't need to specify; she knew in just those few short words what he meant.

"Even then," he said; his tone had a terse finality towards it. They were drawing towards the end, she realized. "All he could say was that was why he had'ta get out," he finished.

This last command sparked an irrational anger in her. Merle, in the brief time she had known him and suffered through interactions with him, was always boastful in his proclamations that he knew what was best for his baby brother, that he knew what needed to be done—_did_ what needed to be done to care for him.

Beth couldn't help but think he had obviously been very negligent in his duties, for someone who broadcasted such success in the situation. Had he wandered off less, seen to less women and less booze and less drugs, perhaps he could've made a stand to their father. Perhaps, she thought, Daryl's back would've never had to be riddled with these scars to begin with.

But that was her innocence talking—the part of her that yearned for pathways that had long since been closed. With a start, she realized Merle's role didn't matter in it at all. He hadn't been the one to hold the belt; it had always been the father, not the brother.

Merle was the better teacher, she recalled. Daryl held a fair share of frustration towards Merle on the matter, she suspected, but it was nothing when compared to the hostility and hate he felt towards his own father on the issue.

Dixon's, she recalled, didn't share in each other's pain, didn't work to lighten the burden felt by others; they contributed, they reveled in it, they _enjoyed_ it.

And, just like that, she knew precisely what she needed to ask. "Di—" she tried to start, only to find her voice rough, almost as if she didn't properly know how to use it anymore. She cleared her throat and attempted to start again. "Did you?" she asked and, while her voice cracked, she did manage to finish. She dared not to speak further; she didn't trust herself to do so.

It took him a second, but, much like always, he followed her train of thought with ease, needing no further clarification on her part. "Yeah," he said. "I got out. Found Merle, started our lives as nobodies."

Without really meaning to, she released a sigh of relief. At the very least, he had gotten away—even if he had been subjected to abject horrors before he could, even if it had taken him far longer than any little boy should've suffered at the hands of a parent to make it. It didn't matter, she thought, because, in the end, he did—he _made _it.

But she didn't dare declare this. She set her determination to tending to his back, knowing that there was a distinct difference for him between admitting and confiding in her this horrible truth and actually _discussing_ it with her. Perhaps, someday, they could venture down that path—explore the true travesties it tended to his soul.

For now, she was beyond grateful that he had chosen to not only confide, but to confide in her. It clarified his character to her on so many levels; she could read his complexities even clearer now than she had previously. She felt the smallest smile approach her lips as she thought on all that it had afforded their relationship, but she just couldn't quite grant permission for the shift in expression—not quite yet.

In the few moments of her silence, she watched Daryl's shoulders relax a bit to roll off some of his tension. This, to her, seemed to confirm that he was grateful for her lack of pressing on the matter.

"How's the back?" he asked, further confirming her suspicions.

Beth took in one more deep breath, as she settled herself to functioning in the normality that typically infused their interactions. She didn't want him to feel as though something had changed from his confession.

"It's rough, Daryl," she started, running a hand over the freshly cleaned wound. "But I think you'll make it."

"Need stitches?"

"It's iffy," she responded as she bent a bit closer to answer that very question for herself. "But I think we can make do without. Which is good," she started, returning to an upright position to take in the sight of her first aid kit. "Because this little kit doesn't have anything that could remotely work. We'll just have to settle for wrapping it and hoping for the best."

"Best hurry," he started and she could've sworn she saw him lean forward in an attempt to listen for approaching Walkers. His dedication seemed so _normal_ that it actually did bring a smile to her face. "Don't think we should assume we got alotta time."

"I agree," she responded with a firm nod. She placed the bottle of vodka on the table to scoop up the first aid kit, in search of a means of wrapping the wound. Again she felt a smile tug at her lips, as she hoped that her daddy—wherever he was—was proud of her treatment to Daryl—both for the wound and for his sharing of his secret.

"How does it feel?" she asked, as she eased back once more to take in her handiwork at its completion. She did her best to keep her eyes on the current wound and not the myriad of scars riddling his back.

"Much better," he said as he quickly stood and settled towards putting himself back together—clothing, bow and pack.

Silently, as if by habit—which, it really was, when she thought about it—they both started scavenging around the cabin, looking for any last minute items they could use. Having little success elsewhere, they both headed for the closet at the same moment.

The weather had become undeniably chillier with every passing day. Where it had been morbidly, horribly humid and muggy when the prison first fell, it was now becoming increasingly necessary to seek out additional layers.

She watched as Daryl acquired a large leather coat and proceeded to slip it on underneath his vest. Again the normality of his movements and choices brought a smile to her face, even as she blindly reached in and acquired a gray wool sweater that would certainly suffice with the cooler weather the night now brought.

They each set their eyes to wandering about the cabin, partaking in a joint final scan to insure that they had gotten every possible item this place had to offer them.

As Beth packed up the kit and her own bag, Daryl made to move towards the front door. She felt certain that he was checking the progress of their new friends and, from the sounds of the moans and splashing, it sounded as though they were in the midst of trekking the creek. Just like that, she knew it wouldn't do to linger.

"Time to go," he started and, in her lightness of foot, she managed to find her way to her post at his elbow before he even managed to turn and seek her out. When he turned and almost smirked at her poised position, she couldn't help but smile.

Just like that, he seemed to let go of any lingering tension that he had been holding in the fallout of his confession. He smiled—_actually _smiled—as he looked directly at her. It, in turn, only made her smile brighten as well.

"Ready," she offered, before he even needed to ask. She issued a nod of her head, wishing it could convey to him so many things—just how grateful she was, just how proud she was, just how much he had taught her and that he had given her a chance to teach him in return.

But, above all, she hoped that it conveyed her delight at their reaching what felt to be some point of no return. But beyond returning from what, she wondered. And did she really care?

As Daryl continued to watch her, door still cracked to let in the sounds of Walkers, she stuck her elbow out lightly to poke his ribs—almost as if to say she was ready and she was wondering what was causing him to linger. He smiled in response, reminding her of just how rare a privilege the expression could be and, as he did so, Beth couldn't help but think that no, she really didn't.


	13. Romantically Part I

**To the beautiful Guest reviewer that Google Translate so graciously informed me is from Brazil—your review truly warmed my heart! I'm so grateful for your kind words! Know that, if my interpretation of Alone does make you cry, I'm not so sure you'll be alone! As I read through it for a final proofread before submission, knowing what's to come just almost makes me cry on principle! A big hug in return from an incredibly appreciative author who can't thank you enough for your support :-)**

**P.S. I hope Google Translate didn't fail me here and that I was able to respond to the content of your review with some form of accuracy! If not, I deeply apologize! **

"Are we close?" Beth asked, just a few inches in front of him, bow in hand, arms not shaking in the least. He almost smiled at the fact, even as he ran his hand over his chin. He was used to having to physically show her how to position her arms and her legs; but, as he took in the sight of her, there was no denying that she didn't need that anymore. The withdrawal of need of action on his part rendered him restless.

"Almost done," he confirmed, his eyes still focused on the trail, even out of the corner of his eyes.

"How do you know?" she asked, not taking her eyes off the trail. He was impressed; he may have given her vague explanations in the past, but he had never directly told her all the signs to look for. It seemed she wanted to know more.

"Signs are all there," he started. "Just gotta know how to read 'em."

He looked on as he watched her try to figure out what they could be following. Daryl hung back; he knew if he just gave her a few seconds, she'd get it. It wasn't like they hadn't seen the tracks before; it was just a matter of her remembering what they looked like.

"It's a Walker," she said, suddenly turning to him with her usual bright smile in place.

Daryl gave her one quick nod, not really sure what to say to her.

"I'm getting pretty good at this," she started, turning back to the prints, an almost bounce to her step, as she let his bow swing casually at her side. "Soon I won't need you at all."

"Yeah," he responded, sliding his eyes from the trail towards hers. "Keep trackin'," he said, unable to resist smirking at her for the smallest moments.

Beth had come a long way in their time together since the prison had fallen. He didn't doubt that she could handle herself out here now. He took a certain amount of pride in the comment she had made; to him, it meant that she trusted him as her teacher, trusted him to give her everything he had, so that she could stand on her own, even if she didn't need to, with him by her side.

They had come to rely on each other over the last month; Daryl just figured that was a natural side effect to surviving daily life and death situations with only one other sole person to talk to.

That didn't mean he minded it, the position they were in and the resulting closeness that had come about. He thought, at one time, Carol had known him the best out of their entire family—they were kindred spirits, both having experienced hell for extended periods of time.

He now had no doubt that Beth knew him better than even Carol—far better, he'd bet. She now knew him better than anyone had, really. Better even than Merle, who really only knew two versions of Daryl—Darylina and his rough baby brother, always in need of protection and further toughing up.

To hear Beth joke that she wouldn't need him in the future—that was just it, he knew immediately that it was a joke. Sure, she had developed survival independence—her shooting, tracking and movements had all improved significantly. But, Beth, even in all her shyness, was social. She talked to him, made him talk in return. He knew she still needed someone around for that—and that was what it had become, between them.

Daryl returned from his thoughts as they finally stumbled upon the Walker. Beth muttered something about the knife the dude had before she looked back to him, looking for approval. He nodded, hoping that she knew that meant he had her back, even if she was starting to take the lead in their training.

Nervousness rose up from his stomach into his throat. He felt his eyes continue to alternate between her and the kneeling Walker. It should be an easy kill, but that didn't mean things couldn't go wrong; he'd seen that far too damn often since the world had gone to shit.

Sure, he wanted her to be able to defend herself; didn't mean he got to sit back and enjoy watching her put herself in danger.

Her approach was good, he noted, as he watched her roll her feet just like he had taught her. But the second his eyes wandered down to her feet, he knew they had a problem. It was already too late, he realized; one more step and she landed straight on the trap before he had even had a chance to get one syllable out to warn her.

Daryl moved immediately. Beth shot off an arrow, hitting the head, but just a little too far to the left to succeed in a kill shot. He had the smallest moments to think that he was impressed that she managed to almost succeed, despite her fallen and injured state.

No communication was needed as he took the Walker out in two easy steps. The trap had been old and rusty, which thankfully kept her foot from being trapped. Regardless, he lowered himself to her side to examine the injury.

He ran his hand over her ankle to see how bad it was; it had taken a bit of a hit, he noticed immediately. His hand ran up to examine the rest of her calf, just to make sure no further damage had been done. Thankfully, he spotted no blood.

"You okay?" he asked.

She groaned just a bit before she answered, "yeah."

"Can you move it?" he asked, running his hand back down her calf to make sure she wasn't just putting on a brave face as she nodded her head.

:::~:::

"From what my daddy taught me," she started as she cast another look down to her foot. "I don't think it's broken."

"Definitely ain't broken," she heard Daryl agree from her left before she took her eyes off of her foot. The shift in her gaze almost caused her to lose her balance, forcing her to instinctually reach out, swinging her arm around his neck to help balance herself.

"Sorry," she muttered, looking to her feet again. Beth could feel the blush overcoming her cheeks; she knew he wasn't necessarily a big fan of physical contact. She made moves to extract her arm straight away.

"Nah," he said as his hand came up to grip her wrist. His remaining arm swung out around her waist to help her support the weight she couldn't put on her foot. "Ya need help walkin'," he started, pausing to stare intently at his shoes, she noticed. "Ain't never gonna get nowhere at this rate," Daryl added, almost as if it were an after thought.

She smiled at him, even though he was avoiding looking at her. It didn't matter, she thought; she knew he could see her out of the corner of his eyes, and she wanted to show him how grateful she was to him for stepping beyond his comfort zone to help her, even if it did come with a snarky defense mechanism attached.

"What all did yer old man teach ya?" His voice surprised her, as she had expected him to fall into silence, since that was the way he preferred to spend their time. Not that she was complaining; a lot of people hated how quiet the world was now. To her, it was just…a few peaceful moments in between the chaos; something to be relished, appreciated.

That being said, Daryl favored the silence so strongly that it made her feel special, _exceptional_, even, that he would go against his old habits to share something—anything—with her.

"Quite a few things about healing injuries. That's how I was able to take care of your cut," she said, as her hand wandered down to brush over the injury, which had all but healed now, a few days later. He healed fast, she noted. "Coulda stitched you up, if I needed to and had the right supplies. But I was never as good at it as my daddy was—hands just weren't as steady, I guess," she added as she shrugged with a small laugh.

Beth ran her eyes up to meet his, only to see Daryl's leaving her face to return to staring at the ground. She felt his hand tighten a bit around her waist, and she wondered what he was thinking.

"Hershel…he was a good man," Daryl said and she could tell there was still something there. His sense of responsibility was nothing compared to what it had been before they burnt down their moonshine shack, but there was still a tenseness to his tone that Beth wished she could will away.

"Yes, he was," she said, swallowing deeply, her eyes never leaving his face. His eyes came up to meet hers, just when she thought he might. Beth had made it her goal to help him feel comfortable enough to start looking at her when they talked like this. While it was still not quite perfect, he was getting much better. It made her smile to think of both his improvements and the compliment he was paying her daddy.

"Taught you well," Daryl said, his eyes still on her face. Beth knew that, on a superficial level, he meant the medical training she had received. But there was something else there, too, deep in his eyes that she couldn't quite get a good grasp of. What was it? Something else that her daddy had taught her? She couldn't be sure.

:::~:::

They had carried on in silence for quite a while, which was perfectly fine for Daryl. He liked that Beth didn't seem to always need to talk. He knew most people would disagree, but it was almost peaceful, sitting in silence with her.

They were making progress, but it was slow progress. He wasn't even really sure where they were going, if he were to be honest with himself. Sure, he knew their direction, but he didn't have a destination in mind. A few weeks ago, right after the fall of the prison, maybe that would've not sat well with him. But, now, back on the road, with no true place to call home, wandering was all they had. It was unsettling how much that didn't unsettle him anymore.

But now, with Beth injured, it needed to become a priority again. He needed to find a place to keep them safe, where they could hold up for a few days while she healed. She had done the same for him, so it only seemed right for him to return the favor, now that she needed it.

He hadn't seen any tracks in the few hours they had been moving, but that didn't mean there couldn't be a place nearby. It just might mean that, if they found a place, they'd get lucky and it'd be abandoned.

Just as he thought that, they stumbled out of the woods and into a cemetery. Across the yard, there was a huge house—probably a mortuary, he thought. With one glance to her ankle, he knew it'd do.

"You alright?" he asked, looking down over her arm to find her face.

"Can I have a sit down," she asked in return as she hobbled a bit on the ankle. It hadn't been bad a few hours ago, but it was starting to get agitated.

Daryl looked up at the funeral home and quickly did the math. Beth weighed next to nothing, he thought. He could carry her that far, no problem.

Just like that, the decision had been made. He had the idle thought that this should bother him more, but things had changed with her injury—with _his_ injury, if he were really to be honest with himself. But he was done—this one was about her.

They had walked for some time with arms around each other, out of pure necessity to lighten the load for her foot. This, he thought, was no different—all in the name of what was safest, not only for her, but for him as well.

"Hop on," he said, after he repositioned his bow to give her some room on his back.

"Are you serious?" he heard her ask from behind him. There was almost a smile in her voice.

"Yeah," he started, small smirk of his own on his face. Daryl wondered what was going through her mind at that moment; she had to know he wouldn't offer it if he wasn't willing. "This is a serious piggyback," he added, as she seemed to continue to wait for a reply. Beth hesitated for just a second more before she hopped on and wiggled about to get situated. "Oh," he grunted a bit at the initial impact of her weight. "Ya weigh more than ya look," he commented, and he heard her release a small laugh right at his ear.

"Maybe there are people there," she said, as they both looked forward towards the building.

"Yeah, if there are," he started, his voice gruff again. "I'll handle 'em," he said, looking to leave no doubt on the issue that he would protect her, if it came to that. Although, he thought he didn't really hear any fear in her voice.

Maybe she knew, he thought. Beth was not only the person of his family who clearly knew him best by this point; she had also become the most important thing in his life—the _only_ person in his life, what with the chance that the others might all still be gone.

Did she know, he wondered, that her safety was one of his top priorities? She had to at least have her guess; it wasn't just every day he offered up a piggyback ride. And he'd all but told her he would've offed himself if he hadn't had her standing by his side on the other side of the prison's fences.

"There are still good people, Daryl," her voice was soft in his ear, almost as if she knew she didn't need to speak loudly, since she was just right there. But it also made her words echo in his head, as if they had a bigger impact due just to the way she said them. They made him think, but he couldn't think quick enough to change his planned response.

"I don't think the good ones survived," he responded, as he thought back to her poor Pa. He hadn't deserved to die; none of them had, of course, but he was the best of all of them. The Governor had known that too, Daryl had no doubt.

He felt her head turn behind him, drawing from the dark path his mind was taking him on. He was grateful for it, until he spotted what she was looking at. Daryl came to a stop and felt her slide off of him immediately, as she took in the sight of the tombstone. The dates were all wrong, of course, but it was the Beloved Father decree that had both of them stopping and starring.

Daryl looked away from the stone to see how she was handling it. There weren't any tears, but she was obviously both a bit sad and relieved to see it. With a shock, he realized they hadn't gotten to have any form of a service for Hershel—to remember and honor him, one of the good ones that hadn't survived.

To make up for his somewhat careless and cavalier comment from immediately prior to his stop, he turned and found some wildflowers and placed them on the top of the stone. He knew she needed this, needed her moment of silence to grieve all that she had lost.

In the frantic moving and searching of the last month or so, they hadn't really had time to process all that they had lost; at least, not since the confrontation at the moonshine shack, but even that had ghosted around the issue. It was better that way, he supposed—it had always been his philosophy to just keep moving and avoid all the bad, dark spots that tried to keep up with you.

But that hadn't been what Beth had done. At their moonshine shack, she had taken the time, made her stand to make him stand; she had told him he couldn't keep running, that he had to face his demons sometime and it might as well be now. It had been hell to go through at the time, but he had felt much better since then, and it was all because of her. Out of sheer gratitude, he couldn't help but want to do the same for her.

So, even though he knew this shouldn't be their priority, even though he still had concerns about that house across the yard, even though he wanted nothing more than to insure her safety by getting her somewhere they could stay for a while, they took their time, standing over that grave in silent recognition of the man they had lost.

Because it was _they_—even though he was her daddy, Daryl felt the loss too. And, more importantly, he felt the loss as it weighed on her. It hadn't been as strong since they'd left the moonshine shack, but it was still there, lingering under the surface. It was clear as day—she missed him, would continue to miss him for probably the rest of her days.

Daryl knew the tombstone was about remembering; appreciating—achieving some form of peace and comfort in the loss of those they cared about. So, when Beth reached her hand out to his and intertwined their fingers, he made no move to separate them, even though, for the tiniest of moments, that was all he wanted to do.

But, to his own surprise, his typical knee-jerk reaction passed with relative ease, unlike it had ever done with anyone else, possibly in his entire life. He remembered Hershel, remembered how important he had been to their family, remembered how important his daughter had become to Daryl himself. And he knew. Even if this was new and foreign to him, it just needed to happen. And, suddenly, it felt _right_, and he felt his fingers tightening their grip on hers out of some subconscious reflex.

He looked back to the funeral home. He needed to get her there. But, as he felt her lean in to him slightly, he knew she needed this more. Daryl's resolve not to rush her grew stronger, even if it killed him to be so close yet so far from safety.

:::~:::

They stayed in silence as they approached the funeral home. The quiet of the home was only further welcoming, as he had Beth wait by the door. Still, he didn't completely trust it. The lack of dust told him there may not be Walkers to kill, but there may be humans around. And they both knew how humans could turn out.

They took it one room at a time, as he led the way, poised to respond in case someone sprung an attack. He didn't think they would though; if that were gonna happen, he thought, would've happened as soon as they came through the door.

But that wasn't his only purpose in the sweep. They both agreed that they needed to find some supplies to take care of her ankle. The first aid kit she'd swiped was nearly tapped out; the supplies had been exhausted on his damn back, even though he had mentioned to her after the fact that she should've saved a bit in case something happened.

He could've told her off for it, but he didn't see how it would do any good. And, what's more, it wasn't what she would've done, if their roles were reversed, so he thought it best to keep his mouth shut on it.

Soon they were lucky enough to find some medical supplies, but they were unfortunately near a Walker someone had been dressing up to get ready for what he could only think of as a fake funeral. It made him uncomfortable—which was saying something, as that very rarely happened in anything related to Walkers.

"Let's get that ankle wrapped," he said, as his eyes lingered on the Walker against his own strong willpower that was telling him not to look at it. "Looks like somebody ran outta dolls ta dress up," he added, doing his best to diffuse the tension it was forcing to roll over him.

"It's beautiful," Beth said. Between her words and the softness of her voice, he couldn't help but look at her. Did she really think that? _Could _she really think that? It amazed him, he thought, as he looked back down towards the body. Just when he would think he had a handle on her, knew her well enough to understand how she thought, the decisions she made, the words she'd use, she'd pull another fast one on him, making him feel like the rug had been pulled out from under him, or like he'd just lost a life and was starting back at level one in an unfair and stacked game.

"Whoever did this," she continued. He couldn't look at the body anymore, but Beth…Beth he could look at. "_Cared_. They wanted these people to get a funeral. They remembered that these things were people before all of this," she paused, as her eyes continued to look over the Walker's face. "They didn't let it change them in the end. Don't you think that's beautiful?"

Suddenly her eyes were on his again and he didn't know what to say. There was no sign that she was exaggerating or lying; why would she, he thought. Those were two things that were far out of her nature.

No, she never said something she didn't mean. She thought this was beautiful—a fact that was only proven by the look of hope in her eyes.

But there was something else there too, he thought. Maybe worry…but worry for what? Maybe him, he wondered. Because he, much like her, couldn't keep his thoughts out of his eyes. He knew that now, knew that was why she always tried to make him meet hers.

Did he think this was beautiful? No he really didn't think it was, but, after her explanation, he could at least appreciate where she was coming from on it. She admired this person—someone who had respected the dead, taken the time and energy to prepare the Walkers for funerals, like they were no different than the people who still walked the Earth now. She admired that they had stayed true to themselves, that they hadn't let the end of the world tear them apart, destroy them or compromise their integrity and values.

The number of people who let this world turn them—destroy them—far outnumbered people like her. Shane, the Governor, even him on occasion—most were guilty of it from time to time.

But not him anymore. _She_ had seen to that. Dale had laid the groundwork, sure—told him and their family that he didn't want to live in a world that meant compromising his humanity. Barked words that continued to whisper in Daryl's ear long after he was forced to put the man down himself. But Beth had sealed the deal, cemented that that wasn't a way to live—it was nothing more than surviving.

Suddenly he felt ashamed of his joke at the Walker's expense. He had forgotten, he realized—that Walkers had once been human. At their moonshine shack, when he'd enticed her to play target practice with that Walker, she had been right. What if it had been Hershel? Or Sophia? He cringed at the thought.

Did he think this was beautiful? Dressing up Walkers and pretending like everything was just as it used to be? No, it was a defense mechanism—a way of coping with the damage brought on by the loss of the world that surrounded them. He could see that, clear as day. But, just as clearly, she could see this as a way of maintaining the world as it used to be, as it should _still_ be.

Did he think this was beautiful? No, he didn't. But her—her hope in humanity and the way she sees things, processes things, interprets things—_that _he could think of as beautiful. _Her_, he thought of as beautiful.

In the span of a few meager seconds, his admiration and respect for her had grown immeasurably. There was something different there now, when he met her eyes again. Not in hers, but in his. He could almost feel it. But he couldn't put a name on it, couldn't even dare to think of putting it in to words, because, at his very core, he knew she had been right—_again_, he thought. He was afraid.

Instead, he focused on the physicality, of what needed to be done, of her safety and the practicality of needing her healed, in top condition. Reaching for her elbow, he eased her back towards the nearby counter. "Come on," he said, as he settled on the task at hand—wrapping her injured ankle.

:::~:::

It had been so long since they had been anywhere that had the chance of having even a barely stocked kitchen that that was immediately where they went next. The last place they had been that even had four walls was the cabin where she had healed his injury from their fall and that had been cleared out, food wise. Before that…it was all squirrels and rabbits and mud snakes, he remembered, with a hint of a smirk.

As they picked their way through cabinets and the fridge, Daryl began to think that would be the case here too. It didn't make sense to him, though. This place was obviously kept tidy. Who would live here and not leave any food for themselves?

Maybe they were on a run, he thought. Maybe that was why whoever kept this place clean wasn't here. He thought back to what Beth had said, about the person who probably lived here, about the person who took care of the Walkers. Daryl tried to harness these thoughts, to cut back on his own insecurities about the possible return of another person.

"Dang," he heard Beth say from behind him. "You find anything?" she added as he opened the last two cabinets to be searched, only to find the motherload. "Whoa," she said as she came to stand next to him.

"Peanut butter and jelly, diet soda and pigs feet," he said as he took a survey of what they had. Suddenly starving, he reached forward and grabbed a jar of peanut butter. "That's a white trash brunch right there."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her shrug, a small smile on her face as she did so. "It all looks good to me," she said.

"Hold up," he said. As she reached forward for her own jar, he took in the sight of his. To confirm his suspicions, he looked up to eye the rest of the stash. "There's not one speck'a dust on this."

Beth followed his eyes, as she seemed to take in her own look at the food. "So?" she asked with another shrug of confusion.

"Means somebody just put it here. This is someone's stash," he clarified, getting another small chill up his spine at the thought of someone returning. He pushed it away; they were safe for now, Beth was on the mend.

Really, he thought, the only issue was in picking at someone else's hard earned stash. "Maybe they're still alive," he said, almost as if he were thinking aloud. His eyes found hers, as they each turned from the food to focus on each other instead.

What would she do, he wondered, as his eyes continued to roam all over her face. But those eyes, he thought, they kept pulling him in. There was kindness there, a seemingly unending supply of kindness and hope. At one time, it had physically hurt to look there and see that, thinking she was nothing but delusional, giving herself false hope.

But not now. He knew she just had a bright burning flame buried deep within her, one that wouldn't go out until they knew their family was dead, had physical proof of it. Even then, he thought, he wasn't sure that would be the end of it. It might deter her, but she'd find her way back. She always did. He started to think that maybe he could too.

So what would she do? He looked back to the food and saw the efforts of someone else. There was no way they'd leave it untouched, sitting in here while they waited for her to heal so they could move on to keep looking, keep searching for their family. No, they needed something. They hadn't had a decent meal in weeks, really, if he were being honest.

_Her_, he thought, as he tried to follow what he hoped would be her train of thought. He knew, almost immediately, once he focused in on it, what she would do. It was easy to follow—far easier than he would've ever expected it to be.

"Alright," he started, as he scanned the supplies again, already doing the math about what they would take and what they would leave be. "We'll take some of it and leave the rest," he continued, as his eyes made their way back to hers, curious to see how she'd react. "Alright?"

Her eyes came to his quickly, and he wasn't disappointed. Her smile had brightened and her eyes, which he had previously thought had more than enough kindness in them to explode, now looked far more fulfilled than he had ever seen them previously. Blindly, he hoped he wasn't misreading her.

"I knew it," she said.

"Knew what?" he couldn't resist asking. He needed some form of verification that he had gotten it right—that he had followed her possible train of thought successfully.

"It's like I said. There's still good people," she finished. Their eyes lingered together for several seconds, as he watched her nervously fiddle with her own jar of peanut butter out of the corner of his eye.

Suddenly that feeling rose up in him again, the same as it had before he wrapped her ankle. No longer having an injury to attend to, he settled for digging into his peanut butter with his bare hands, hoping the gruffness of the action may counteract that pulling feeling from his gut.

"Gross," he heard her mutter. But he noticed, as he glanced back at her while he was walking away, that she still had that smile on her face.

"Hey," he said, mouth still full of peanut butter. It tasted like heaven after weeks of nothing but rabbit and squirrel. "Those pigs feet are mine." She nodded in agreement, that smile still on her face.

That feeling hit him again, as he realized he may have done something right this time. The pleasure that filled him with set off the alert in his mind and, suddenly, he knew he had a bit of thinking to do, some sorting out that needed attended to.

:::~:::

Beth, due completely to her healing injury, stayed inside while he strung up their cans and set to securing the house. That was quite fine by Daryl, as his thoughts were a tangled mess that couldn't have been sorted out with her there by his side.

He knew what he was feeling, what that clenching sensation was that seemed to be keeping a grip on his gut every time he spent too much time talking to her or thinking about her. If he were honest, he'd admit he had it right now, just knowing she was inside, waiting for him to come back in.

When had this happened, he wondered. When had things changed? He could pinpoint several big moments for them—airing out the past at their shack, burning the shack down to be rid of the ugliness of said past, the training sessions where he had simultaneously worked to create independence in her all the while growing to rely on her more with every passing day, sharing his past with his father—even if it was in vague and nonspecific terms. It had been there, he supposed, in all of those moments, building below the surface. But he had missed it.

At one time, he had wanted to get to know her, wanted to get to know how she thought—processed and perceived so much while assuming so little. Somewhere along the line he reckoned he had taken it too far. It had gone from wanting to get to know her to admiring her to…something more, something permanent, something unbreakable.

It was how she felt about those damn Walkers in the cellar, he thought. That was when he really saw her for what she was. He had admired her—for her hope and her faith that their family was still alive—really since the prison fell.

But not like that, not like he had when he realized she had somehow managed to come out on the other end of the world going to shit with her personality, beliefs and viewpoints still intact.

Daryl thrived with the world gone to shit; he was made for how it was now. Beth, on the other hand, took the end of the world and made the best of it, generated purely from her simultaneous ability to adapt to the demands of survival and her hard line to refuse to compromise herself in pursuit of living.

It was…gripping, he realized. The second she made that stand outside their moonshine shack, she had grabbed his attention and demanded it. Really, he realized, it hadn't left her since then.

With the cans strung up, there was nothing else he could do to further guarantee their safety. With a hopeful sigh that that should be enough, he retuned inside, recognizing that the setting sun really kept him from doing much more anyway.

As soon as he was through the door, he heard it. She was singing again, but it sounded so different to him from the last time he had heard her, at the prison. Sluggishly, he realized, she wasn't the one who had changed. It was his point of view on it and her that had been altered.

As silently as he could, he took the hall, his bow still slung over his shoulder—he'd never go anywhere without it, especially when it had the power to determine the difference between defending her and the funeral home or a far more disastrous outcome.

She was a good tracker, a good hunter and a good shot; he need look no further than that Walker she had almost managed to off, while injured, to confirm that fact. But in the peace of the funeral home, he supposed she wasn't nearly as alert as she had been when they had been on the road; she didn't even hear him coming, didn't even startle through one note.

That was it, he realized. That was why she was singing, _because_ they were no longer on the road. They were safe—or as safe as they could be, tucked in to the funeral home…and together, he added as an after thought. He wondered if that served as a factor for her, as it did for him.

Beth had first sung out at the prison in the yard, that first night they finally managed to get through the fence and set up camp in an area protected from Walkers. It had annoyed him at the time, as he saw it as nothing more than a means of enticing the Walkers to try to find their way to push in.

But, now, he could appreciate what it had meant, what she had been saying with that choice. She had been making a stand, choosing to sing in spite of the fact that there were still Walkers on the other side of that fence and that they _could _find a way in. But she had faith that they wouldn't, that the walls would stand and that they would live to see the next morning. _That _was what propelled her to sing—she had felt safe and at home and _alive_, able to thrive for the first time probably since the fall of the farm.

This was repeated several times once they actually entered the prison. Then it had annoyed him less, as they were in a safer location. Of course, this only prompted more singing on her part, as she grew steadily more secure in their ability to hold the prison and the ability of the walls to keep the ugliness of the outdoor world from them.

Now, here she sat, singing in their funeral home. She hadn't even done that in their shack. It told him that she felt safe, happy, secure.

And happy she was. He could feel the joy coming off her in waves, even though he could barely even see her face from his vantage point resting against the door jam. It was riveting to him; he wasn't so sure he'd ever really found that much joy in anything.

With every second he stood there, the clenching in his gut tightened. With a jolt, he realized it wasn't necessarily in a negative way. But, this same shock brought his own staring to his attention. Embarrassment immediately rolled over him, as he almost couldn't handle what he had been allowing himself to do. His eyes, as they usually did when he was embarrassed, came to rest on his feet and he began to fidget, wondering how he could make it seem as if he just entered the room without seeming conspicuous.

Daryl chose to clear his throat, and shifted his weight as if he had just entered the room. He forced himself to meet her eyes as she turned to face him; he needed to see if she was suspicious of his behavior, if she could read him for signs he had been there far longer than she had suspected.

He was surprised to see that she seemed almost as startled and embarrassed at being caught as he was at watching her. Beth had sung out plenty of times before, why would she worry about him? But, as far as he could tell, it wasn't necessarily in a bad way, just in the way that sudden noise always set people on edge now.

The fact that she seemed thrown off served as a comfort to him, providing him with solidarity. Regardless, the nervousness still gripped at his gut, causing him to fidget even further than he already was. He mumbled something about locking up the house as he actually removed his bow from his shoulders. His body ached from their time on the road and he wanted nothing more than to sit down uninhibited.

But where to do so, he wondered. Thinking about it had him gripping at the hem of his shirt, as another round of nerves poked at him. He didn't want to sit too close to her and risk making her feel uncomfortable or raising her suspicions. And, yet, he couldn't deny that that joy that was still coming off her in waves inherently drew him in, made him want to be closer to her. As he took in the room, he knew exactly where he could choose that would allow for a diffusion of the tension, if it was needed.

Having made his choice, he eagerly hopped in the casket, hoping it could serve as a comfortable place to possibly watch her play a bit more.

"What are you doin'?" he heard her ask as his eyes came back to her after settling in a bit. Her smile was wary, but he couldn't help but notice it was still there. Seeing hers made his smile make an appearance. Well, that and the actual comfort provided by the casket.

"This is the comfiest bed I've had in years," he said, settling in even further.

"Really?" she asked with a laugh as he laid himself down to fully enjoy it.

"I ain't kiddin'," he said, his smile still in place. His shifting had forced his eyes from hers, but, now that he was settled, he found his eyes coming back to her and the piano instinctually. Another wave of nervousness hit him as he thought on what he really wanted to say, replacing the bit that their talking had managed to get rid of.

His hands lowered to his shirt to resume his fidgeting. "Why don't ya go ahead," he started, feeling that clenching in his gut as it took a firmer grip. "Play some more?"

Beth's smile shined even brighter than it usually did and he wondered if she saw through his vague request. "I thought my singing annoyed you?" she asked, but that smile was still in place; he knew there weren't any bad feelings there, over the things he had said in the past.

Things had changed, especially things between them. The thought crossed his mind that she may have received the message he was trying to send—that he really wanted to hear her sing, that he actually _liked_ hearing her sing, now that he knew her better, understood her better.

"There ain't no jukebox, so…" he trailed off, hoping she would let his smirk finish his attempt at diffusing the tension. Despite the fact that he wanted very much to hear her keep singing, verbal expression was never reliable for him, a fact that seemed particularly true now; at this rate, he didn't even trust his voice to keep from cracking embarrassingly like a boy going through puberty.

Thankfully, she seemed to get his message and turned to face the piano again, taking her eyes off of his. Without the pressure of her eyes on him, he felt able to allow his thoughts to wander. Even so, for several seconds, he couldn't do anything but watch her, listen to her song and her lyrics, as that joy just continued to come off of her in waves.

That joy and its unfamiliarity to him had several things pushing, pulling at his stomach, trying their hardest to push their way in. His finger found its way to his mouth, as it tended to do when his insecurities were coming to the surface.

He tried so damn hard to pack it all down, but sometimes it was unavoidable. And as he laid there, in his casket, finger still lingering in his mouth, even as he released a deep, almost anxious breath and his eyes made their way to focus on the ceiling, he knew he was in for another unpleasant bout.

What if she said no? If she wasn't interested?

What if their family didn't approve? Beth was certain they were still alive and, now, that was enough for him to believe it too. It hadn't always been—and damn if it wasn't still hard for him to keep in touch with that feeling—but he knew now, that she had to be right. She always was; why should this issue be any different?

And if their family was alive, and a reunion was in the near future, what if they didn't approve? The age gap was definitely a concern, and not just from the potential point of view of their family. He thought it might look suspicious to anyone they stumbled upon.

But, him, completely on his own—he didn't care about it. She may be a teenager physically, but emotionally and mentally, she had _years _on even him. No, that wasn't a concern from his point of view. And, if—_when_—they found the others, if that became a problem, he'd deal with it. He had enough personal demons running through his veins to bid too many thoughts to the possible complaints of others.

But _her_. The feelings of their family didn't mean a damn, if she didn't see him in the same way he saw her. Was it possible? Could she even see him in the way he looked at her, the way he attempted to follow her lines of thought in admiration? What if she didn't? What if she rejected him?

Well, why wouldn't she, he thought. Obviously she didn't see him in the same way that he saw her. They were opposites, which usually worked for them, in their daily interactions. But it meant they each valued the other for completely different reasons. What if the things she valued in him—reliance for survival and strength—what if they weren't enough? What if _he_ wasn't enough?

Of course he wasn't enough, a voice whispered in his head. It sounded suspiciously like Merle and, had he been of a clearer mind, maybe he would've recognized that on a deeper level and not let it infect his brain as it did. As it were, he was soon in a fit of panic, because he felt certain he _wasn't_ enough. Not just for her, but for love in general—he just didn't deserve it. He was a redneck asshole who had needed the world going to shit to thrive. Who the fuck looked at someone like that and thought—_that_. _That's_ what I want.

No one like Beth Greene, that was for damn certain. She was too much for him, too good for him. What had he done to deserve a girl like Greene? What made _him _deserve _her_?

_What made him deserve her?_ Nothing, he realized. She was light and brightness and happiness and hope—everything he wasn't. Everything he hadn't been for a very long time, if ever.

But that isn't the case now, is it? A voice whispered, and he realized it sounded suspiciously like the singing voice drifting towards him from just a few feet over. How many times had she told him? Told him he was a good person, that he wasn't responsible for anything Merle had done, for anything that the Governor had done, for any of the shit that had rained fire down upon their lives.

But it wasn't just that. She hadn't just freed him from guilt. She had gone out of her way to tell him that he was a good person, that he deserved to not only survive, but to _live_. The way he tended to Little Ass Kicker. The way he looked after Carol and the others. The way he'd run straight through a collapsing building, if only it meant he could save any member of their family, no matter how long they had lived at the prison, no matter how long he had _known_ them. The way he looked at her differently—the way he had been the one to first see her as more than background fodder, the way he had been the one to elevate her to caretaker.

A promotion he just continued to carry out, he reminded himself, as he remembered how many times she had thanked him for his efforts to train her over the last few weeks. Now, he had gotten her to the point where he felt confident she wouldn't need to rely on anyone to make her own damn way in this world.

And she was _grateful_. To him. Continued to rely on him, as a result—out of choice, not necessity.

But she was grateful, not just for what he had done for _her_, in their time alone or in their time together with their family at the prison, but for _everything_ he had done for every single member of their family. No one else seemed to give a damn what he did on a regular basis, but she had all but told him that wasn't the case for her—that she had long since appreciated what he did for them.

_"If the choice was between keeping Merle and losing you…well…then there wasn't really a choice, was there?"_

Her words flashed before him and he knew. He just knew. That was the end of it. Almost everyone in his life had always taken Merle's mistakes out on him. But not her. She could see that Merle was far from a fucking saint, but she not only managed to not judge Merle himself, but managed to not look at him any differently either.

_And he had come back_. She had told him that was important, that she had been angry with him before that, but that his coming back had said something about him. What was it…? That he was different, changed, independent of his brother, loyal to _their_ family, not just his own.

She didn't see him as some pathetic asshole who had needed the world going to hell to get his shit together. No, he realized. That was just how he saw himself, even after the numerous times she had persisted in telling him otherwise. With difficulty, he repressed a laugh that pressed on his tongue. He had been right, at their moonshine shack; he needed her to remind him sometimes.

And she had. She had been reminding him since that very day. No, she didn't see him the way he thought others might see him. She looked at him and saw someone who was possibly even worthy of some form of attention in return.

He was a good person, she had told him. He still wasn't completely sure, but, for her, he'd try his damndest to prove her right.

As he came to some form of a conclusion, he felt the rigid lines of stress ease out of his body, allowing him to finally relax and fully appreciate her singing for the first time in several minutes. Her voice only compounded the emotions he was already feeling at his conviction—hopeful and almost, for lack of a better word, committed.

"And we'll be good," she finished, her smile bright and her eyes set to the piano.

Yeah, he thought, they would be.


	14. Romantically Part II

**To my Brazilian repeat reviewer—I hardly even know what to say in response to your last review! I just feel so pleasantly overwhelmed and grateful for the amazing words of encouragement you have offered. I feel so honored that you consider the last few chapters some of the most beautiful content that you've read in a long time. The compliment you have paid me is high; I'm not so sure I'm deserving of it! But I shall try my very hardest to live up to your praise with this next one :-) Please know that your reviews delight me as well and that the support—from ****_all_**** of you who continue to read this story—means more to me than I can express! **

****Updated Version Note—I received a message that indicated, quite rightly, that Beth was a bit selfish in this chapter. I have since revised the chapter, especially in the matter of her internal monologue running through the first scene. The dialogue was altered, but only minimally so. For those of you who have read previously, no plot-altering content has been added or removed. It was merely so I could sleep better tonight, and rest easy that my Beth was still true to our Beth :-)****

She thought she heard him approaching the following morning.

Daryl, in all his generosity, had insisted she take the upstairs bedroom, which afforded the use of an actual mattress, albeit one tinged with a bit of must.

With being able to actually sleep in a bed, Beth fell back on old habits. Before the farm had fallen, and she had been blessed with the opportunity of occupying her own bed in her own room, she had often spent a bit of time after she had awoken simply laying in bed, listening to the chirp of birds outside her window and enjoying the natural beauty of a brand new day.

At the prison, with Judith under her care, she rarely had that opportunity. She was up early every day to attend to the child's needs—a job that she had willingly accepted and gleefully held until their very last day at the prison.

But, now, in the safety of the funeral home, with a comfortable feeling radiating through her, she just felt compelled to take her time on this particular morning. Her leg was on the mend, she reasoned; she didn't want to push it too far, after all. The rationalizations made her smile brighten as she continued to look out her window.

Beth had been tittering on the edge of falling back asleep when she could've sworn she heard feet climbing their way up the stairs. In her lingering conscious and unconscious state, she couldn't quite motivate herself to turn around; she had complete trust that, if someone were lingering on her door jam, it was Daryl, not any form of a stranger that presented danger. She slipped back into unconsciousness just as she began debating turning to ask if everything was all right, as she had not heard the sound of his feet retreating.

An hour later she awoke to a burning curiosity in regards to her surroundings; it motivated her to extract herself from bed. The memory of the approaching feet from earlier in the morning seemed little more than the stuff of dreams—a hazy event that she was inclined to believe she had imagined. Not worry for her or Daryl's safety, she decided to wander the upstairs in search of some means of passing the time while she healed up.

Two rooms down, she found something that drew a forcible gasp from her. Beth nearly salivated at the sight of books—real, thick, novels. Immediately she set forth to run her hands over the nearest spines, an action that had her hiss for a moment in pain; her ankle wasn't quite as enthused at this find as she was, evidently.

She couldn't bring herself to be concerned, she thought, as she pushed through the pain to continue to scan a few of the shelves. The supply wasn't astronomical, but it was certainly far better than anything she could've ever imagined finding tucked away in their funeral home. Suddenly, she grew overwhelmed with an appreciation of how blessed she had come to be, by the beautiful surprises life managed to throw her way, even in the light of the turn.

Beth began scanning the titles and was unsurprised to find that a large portion of the novels seemed focused on spiritual subjects. As if by habit, her hand came up to play with the cross she had stumbled upon the previous evening when she had searched the bedroom before playing a bit on the piano. She hoped the owners of the home wouldn't mind if she took it; it had been far to long since she had worn a cross around her neck, she quite missed it.

But there were items of a secular nature, as well, she noted, as she continued to scan the books—classics such as _Pride and Prejudice_ and _Jane Eyre _and _Little Women_. Yes, she thought, this was only further exceeding her expectations by the moment.

"Ya write, ya read, ya talk a lot. Anything you can't do with words?"

His voice startled her. There were times when she thought she had gotten quite good at tracking and hearing through the pushing silence that surrounded the world now. And then Daryl would approach her—scare her witless with how impossibly quiet he could be while he did so and suddenly she'd realize she still had quite a bit of learning to do, if she intended to keep up with Daryl Dixon.

She clutched at her chest as she turned to face him, taking comfort in the cool material of the crucifix pressed against her palm as she did so. Beth found him leaning against the door, a look of pure curiosity on his face. While some may have found some harshness to his words, she just didn't…not anymore. She knew that he asked her things such as this out of interest, not sarcasm.

"Well, 'words are our most inexhaustible source of magic,'" she responded with a smile, able to remember the sheer joy she had experienced at reading those words for the very first time.

When she took in his reaction, she had to bite her lip to keep from giggling out of sheer intrigue and delight. He looked confused, even more curious than he had before, but, perhaps most surprisingly and most interestingly, he also looked somewhat impressed.

"You come up with that?" he asked. Where he might've once patronized her for her turn of phrase, she noticed he now seemed genuinely curious and interested in the prospect of discussing it.

"No," she said with a small, sheepish, almost abashed chuckle. Or, at least, she hoped that was how the laugh came off; she didn't want to run the risk of embarrassing him. "Those words are from a novel I read once…or twice. Or maybe four or five times," she said with another laugh, as she turned to take in the shelves, wondering if the residents would have that oh-so favorite book of hers.

"Ya read the same book more than once?" His words drew her eyes back to his, as they became far more important than her active search for that particular novel.

Beth found him approaching her, hand resting on the strap of his bow. "Yes," she answered, smile brightening. "I actually always read novels at least twice through. I always get so much more out of it the second time."

She watched him, waiting for some form of a response, curious to hear what he would say to that. There was a time, she thought, where he might have called her on the silliness of the act—that it was a waste of time.

After all, who had time to read books when they were forced to take care of themselves from such a young age, she couldn't help but think. A wave of sadness hit her again, as she pictured the scars that riddled his back; she could see them clear as day, almost as if they were evident before her right now, even though that obviously wasn't the case.

"What did you do as a kid?" she asked, now infused with a curiosity of her own. She knew the man this world had changed him in to, the man the actions of his father and Merle had forced him to be. But she didn't know what he'd done before all of this, for the sake of fun and pure enjoyment. "What did you do for fun?" she asked by way of clarification, when she saw his forehead crinkle a bit in confusion.

With a sigh he removed his bow and took a seat in a nearby golden chair. But the sound obviously wasn't a sigh of impatience, annoyance or irritation; it was the sigh of a man who didn't know if he could honestly find an answer. That fact made her sad for him.

The sadness was rolling off of him in waves and she would be lying if she said it didn't draw her in, captivating her attention. Whenever she felt him hit a slump like this, it caused a reaction in her—a defensiveness for his sake. She knew he had the power to be happy, the _right_ to find and create his own happiness; but, sometimes, she recalled, she needed to remind him of that very right. With a smile, she remembered his request from the porch of their moonshine shack.

Her feet carried her to the corresponding golden chair that sat angled to face his. Daryl brought his thumb up to his mouth as he chewed on the skin off to the side of his nail. As he did so, Beth found her body moving itself forward, to lean her weight on the arm of the chair. She had seen him do so several times in the last few days, but she hadn't quite riddled out what the action was a representation of, what emotions he was feeling that caused the subconscious movement to spring forth.

"The neighb'hood kids always had'ta have their bikes," he started, his eyes coming to meet hers suddenly. They seemed to drill into hers lately; the action indicated that his level of comfort with her had steadily increased, enabling him to find her eyes with slightly more ease as of late. It made her smile to think on his growth and ability to open up to her. "Always wished I'd'a had one."

"You didn't have a bike?" she asked softly, with a tilt of her head.

"Not till I took Merle's motor," he said with a shake of his head.

She nodded her head, feeling another wave of sadness for him. "What did you have?" she asked. A few weeks prior, she wouldn't have worded it that way, for fear that he would interpret what she was saying incorrectly.

But, now, she knew there was an understanding between them—they each knew the other better than anyone else on the face of the planet knew them. Beth had faith that he would be able to read her tone and realize there were no malicious intentions behind the words.

"There was this one thing," he said, lowering his eyes to the floor, but only for a second. "Found it in the old man's dumpster chair. Don't even think he knew I had it, 'cause he sure as hell didn't buy it for me. Someone just left it there, guess."

"What was it?" she asked after he had remained silent for a longer time than was typical. She felt her smile returning at the fact that he did have one thing that seemed to bring him joy in his childhood.

Daryl was watching her closely. Even though he was taking longer than usual to complete his train of thought, his eyes never once wavered from her face. This was odd, she thought; even though she had relished in the hard work of comforting him, easing him in to feel more at peace with the concept of meeting her eyes on a more regular basis, she hadn't thought he had reached the level of tranquility required to rest his eyes on her with the ease that he was currently displaying.

She was by no means complaining, though. There were so many emotions there in his pools of blue that she could've studied them for hours and still only hit the tip of the iceberg on what all they had to offer.

"A motorcycle," he answered finally. "Just a little 'en," he clarified by holding up his thumb and pointer finger to indicate the size of the toy. "Used'ta play with it fer hours, while the old man was out drinkin' and Merle was with some girl. Always hid it, though, when I heard either of 'em comin'. Knew they'd do nothin' but take it from me if they found it."

"Why would they take it from you?" she asked, her smile slipping away as she got lost in the train of the conversation, lost in the image of his father and the horrible things he had done to his son.

He shrugged, his eyes still on hers. "Wasn't no time for stupid shi—things like that."

Instantly, the images of his daddy were gone and her smile was back, as she realized he had checked his reflex to curse. She'd never heard him do that before.

"Dixons only had time for the stuff we needed ta do ta survive."

"Well, except for alcohol and cigarettes," she specified for him, her smile widening. Beth had expected him to take her joke in stride, but she couldn't have predicted that he'd very nearly smirk right along with her. "But, I guess, those things were probably considered necessities, weren't they?" she added, as the corners of her mouth dropped a bit, realizing the weight of her words, even if he seemed unbothered by them.

"Don't forget drugs," Daryl added. "Merle liked his drugs."

She nodded, as her mind wandered once more to how one brother left the other at the hands of an abusive father. She shook her head to refocus; she had very little desire to go much further on the issue of Merle. Her realization from his confession at the cabin reappeared, as she recalled who he held at fault for the abuses of his childhood; it wasn't Merle, she remembered. No, she thought, for the moment being, they had both put that ghost in their past, right where he needed to be for the majority of the time.

"Do you still have it?"

He seemed to know instantly what she was talking about, as he shook his head. "Nah, with all the movin' 'round we did when I was a kid, it just got lost somewhere 'long the line."

"But, then, you got to have a life sized one," she said with another smile, hoping to return some of his smiles and laughs from earlier.

"Yeah, that I stole from Merle," he insisted and she felt her teeth slip to grip the side of her cheek. His repeated mention of his brother indicated to her that, even now, there was still some lingering guilt on his shoulders. In general, that was his default setting—this self-deprecating stance. It didn't annoy her, not in the slightest, but it did serve up a fresh round of sadness for him with every single dish.

"He wasn't exactly what I'd call innocent, though, either," she said with an even stronger smile. That half smirk appeared on his face again; its presence indicated that he wasn't clinging to his sense of guilt and served to relieve her, for his sake.

"Yeah, s'pose he wasn't." Daryl brought his thumb back up to his mouth as he continued to look at her. There was something there, but she couldn't quite get a read on it, which threw her; it was very rare that she couldn't see through someone's words and expressions to read exactly what they were thinking and considering.

In the case of Daryl, she had always been able to achieve that goal somewhat readily, with very few noted exceptions. But, over these last few days, there was such a strong complexity there that she seemed to get too lost in looking at him to draw in her focus.

"I have an idea," she started, not sure what else to do with that look he was giving her. "Next town we find, we're gonna track down a bike and you, Mr. Dixon, are going to have your first bike ride."

"Nah," he said, by way of complaint. But she saw through that in a second; even as his eyes dropped to the floor, she could read him like a book. He had that smile on his face again and, if she didn't know any better, she'd say she'd seen a slight flush hit his cheeks. "Too old for that, dontcha think?"

The fact that he tacked that question on the end of what would've been a sufficiently sulky statement fueled her to the hilt with hope. Had he simply settled for saying he was too old to ride a regular old bicycle, it could've just been him refusing the concept on sheer ridiculousness alone.

But, the fact that he added that question, and met her eyes while he asked it—it just seemed to her that he might've been asking for approval, reaching out to verify that he could still do things like that.

"No one's too old to go for a bike ride!" she cried, her smile refusing to deflate in the slightest.

Daryl paused for a second, his eyes still locked onto hers. "Ya ain't gonna make me wear a helmet, are ya?"

She hadn't thought of that, but, now that he had mentioned it, she decided it simply had to happen. As a result, she merely laughed mischievously in response. That blush hit his face again, as he ran a hand over his eyes in disbelief; it seemed, she thought, he might have just realized he caused far more damage than prevention with his question.

"Never answered my question," he said after they had sat in comfortable silence for a few seconds. Beth's eyes had wandered back towards the books, but his voice demanded her attention once more.

"Which one?" she asked.

"Anything ya can't do with words?"

She smiled. "I guess ya could say that," she conceded, although she had never really thought about it like that. "Stories just…they let me escape. Before everything, before the world collapsed, I could just read a story and imagine living in that world.

"Even miserable terrains seemed fascinating to me," she continued. "Dystopias where the world had all but come to an end, and yet, people remained standing, remained fighting, even to their very last breath. There was just a beauty in it for me, I guess."

"That why you read now? To escape all…this?" he asked as he nodded towards the nearest window.

"To be honest, I haven't really gotten to read since we left the farm. Living on the road, necessities were carried and everything else was left behind. The prison didn't exactly come with a well-stocked library and, if it did, the Walkers in the tombs would've made it an unnecessary hazardous journey. So finding…_this_," she said, waving around vaguely to the shelves. "It's a dream come true," she finished with a shrug.

Daryl watched her for a second before he opened his mouth to respond. "Merle liked to read," he said, looking briefly at his shoe. His awkwardness on the topic told her that perhaps he liked to read too. "Although he never would'a admitted it ta people."

"I thought your childhood didn't necessarily afford time to let Merle get in some reading?" she asked, feeling herself sitting forward again. This mention of Merle felt different in some way; it was about Daryl, she realized, not Merle.

"It didn't," he clarified, his eyes still on his shoes. "But, as he got older, he started readin', especially after the world went to shit. Like you said—an escape.

"Nah, it was me," he continued, as his eyes came up to her. She knew what was coming then, once she saw what was in his eyes. "It was me who read as a kid. 'Nother thing I had to keep from Pa. Hate ta think what would'a happened if he'd found me with some book instead of a bow."

Beth nodded, not looking to press on the issue. After that first exchange on the matter, they hadn't really discussed his father. She would gladly listen, should he feel compelled to share more details with her, but she certainly wouldn't push him on it.

She cringed every time she thought of the torture he had been subjected to at such a young age. Each time she pictured him taking the belt to his back; and every time, without fail, tears sprung to her eyes. She had kept her reactions in check, that day at the cabin; but, if Daryl were to breach the topic again, if he were to mention the horrible acts of his father, she wasn't so sure she could check her intense dislike for the man she had never met any longer than she had already managed to repress it.

But, as she looked to Daryl, she knew he had come out stronger on the other end. As much as she hated what had happened to him, it had made him the man he was today—a man she cared very deeply for.

As she took in the sight of the books surrounding them, she dared not to feel pity for him; he would absolutely abhor it, if she should ever feel that way. But, she did feel another wave of sadness. Daryl had obviously enjoyed reading, among various other recreational activities at one time, before the Dixon way had been thrust upon him—the way of surviving, not living.

Taking in the sight of so many books she had had the privilege and opportunity to enjoy as a child, she knew instantly what she needed to do—the offer that she wished with all her heart to make.

"Why don't you take one?" she asked as she looked around at the walls.

Daryl stared at her for several seconds; she didn't think to use that term lightly, but that was precisely what he was doing, in her opinion. He wasn't just looking at her, he was almost studying her—as if he were trying to take everything he could from what she was offering. Without a moment's hesitation, she gave him everything she had.

"Wouldn't know what ta pick."

"I can suggest one, if you'd like?"

He waited a few seconds before she saw him nod once to signal his approval.

A thrill went through her as she stood up. Recommending books and receiving recommendations in return had been one of her favorite things before the Walkers had started rising. She once again resumed her earlier search, knowing exactly which words she would hand over to him, if she could only find them.

She gasped when she found it. "That one," she said, pointing to a shelf that was out of her reach. Daryl was silently at her side in a moment's notice, reaching for the book and taking it from its shelf with ease. "Technically, it's a children's book. But that hasn't ever kept me from loving it. I think you'll enjoy it," she finished with a shrug and a smile.

His face was completely straight as he nodded his agreement to read the novel, a fact that moderately surprised and impressed her.

:::~:::

He left her in the library to read. The suggestion in a book and her making plans for the future meant a lot to him, to the point where he found his feet automatically carrying him towards the kitchen to return the favor when he left the library behind.

What their conversation had told him was that she was working to make him happy; although, with a smirk, he realized that wasn't how she would think of it. In her terms, she was working to build a life where they could actually _live_, not just survive.

In this world, taking a frivolous bike ride was not only risky, it could turn out to be flat-out dangerous. But she didn't seem to care. Going would make him happy and, therefore, it was worth the risk.

He wanted to find a way to tell her he felt similarly. Despite the limited number of supplies, he set out to finding a way to do that, as he distributed some of the supply for each of them.

At the last moment, he put a jar of the pig's feet in front of her side of the portions. Beth was perceptive; he knew there was no way she'd miss that—miss what it could mean based on the declaration he had made pretty much as soon as he spotted them the day before.

When he was done, he sat and waited. Daryl knew she was reading—what else would she be doing, after she had shown him just how excited the books could make her? He didn't want to rush her, but, at the same time, he wanted her to see what he had done.

He waited as long as he could, he really did. How long had it been? Five minutes? Thirty? Sixty? Time really didn't have any meaning anymore—not in this world. Either way, he knew when he just couldn't wait any longer. He got up, his impatience resulting in much heavier and louder steps than he usually treaded on.

Watching her read was almost as grabbing as hearing her sing, he thought, but only for a moment, as his attention snapped back to observe her actually laughing at something from the book, eyes glued to the page. He didn't have endless time to stare, like he had slipped up with last night; Daryl was certain she had to know he was there—he had been far too loud on his approach for her to not hear him.

"Hungry?" he asked and was surprised to see her startle. Her dedication to her actions amazed him; no matter what she was doing, it got her full and devoted attention. It was sweet, but he also couldn't help but think that might compromise her sharpness on the road. He shook his head to stop that thought before it could progress too far down a dark track.

With a bright smile and an eager nod, she stood from her chair, placing the book on the end table as she did so. Her excitement was short-lived, though, as her quick actions resulted in a hiss of pain from forgetting to monitor the weight she placed on her ankle.

Quick as always, he was at her side in a second. They returned to the old standard of one arm around each other—a practice that had grown necessary for moving her around the two floor funeral home in the wake of her injury.

They took the stairs and Daryl nearly growled in impatience. As soon as they conquered the stairs, he realized his face must be giving him away, as she released a laugh that brought his eyes to hers. "I'm going as fast as I can!" she called, hitting his shoulder lightly and bringing a smirk to his face.

Well, it wasn't fast enough, he decided. Before he could even second-guess the move, he swung her up, placing one arm under her knees and another at her back to support her. Beth's arms slung around his neck as she let slip a sound that indicated she was definitely surprised by the move. He would've worried that he'd made her uncomfortable, if it hadn't been for her persistent smile and the uninhibited laughter that erupted from her a second later.

When he pushed the kitchen door open, her eyes immediately fell on the kitchen table and the assembled items he had set out for their lunch. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her mouth pop open, as he focused on lowering her into a chair before taking his seat directly across from her.

Daryl had just settled in when he heard the cans get raddled. His bow was secured on his shoulder in a second's notice, as he jumped up to check out the sudden noise. Seeing her shift as if she intended to get up, he quickly told her to stay put before leaving the kitchen and heading towards the front door.

Precautious to a fault, he peaked through the door to see if there was any evidence of prevalent danger. What he saw was anything but, as he opened the door and found a dog lingering on their porch.

Falling to a crouch, he announced who they had as a visitor, so as to keep Beth from worrying. He attempted to entice the dog to come in, knowing full and well that she would enjoy the animal's company.

Thinking back on her plans for the future, he knew he had to give an effort to get the dog to come inside; it was what she'd want—what would make her happy. But he had no luck, as the dog got frightened and quickly ran off.

When he turned and found her standing just a few feet away, he couldn't help but give her a bit of a hard time. "I told you to stay back," he reminded her.

"Yeah, but Daryl," she started, smile on her face. Apparently he was no longer intimidating, not even in the slightest. "You said there was a dog."

He nodded, knowing that would be her reaction the second he had told her what was at the door. "Maybe he'll come back 'round," he said as he approached her, placing an arm on her shoulder to turn her back towards the kitchen. "Come on," he finished, his mind set back on those pigs' feet he had waiting.

:::~:::

Spending the afternoon reading the novel she had suggested to him left him on the brink of action. He was no longer afraid—particularly not after the realization he had sorted out the previous night while listening to her sing and the encouragement he had gotten from her earlier in the day—but he was definitely nervous. It made him fidget just to think about it.

After trying to read the same sentence for the sixth time, he finally caved and put the book down on the table next to the couch in what he now considered to be his room—with the piano and the casket. With a start, he realized it was already dark out. To verify the speed at which time had flown by, his stomach piped up with a steady growl.

"Hungry?" He heard her ask from his right. Had he been anyone else, she might've managed to startle him. But he didn't startle easily.

With a nod, he got up to help her toward the kitchen. Every time he helped her she seemed to need to put a little less weight on him; it was a good sign, he thought. With any luck, they might be able to leave the funeral home in a day or two.

But, would that be lucky, he wondered idly as he put her in a chair. Suddenly, he wasn't so sure it would be.

As he started moving their already opened containers back from the counter, he glanced across the table to the chair she had occupied earlier. All of a sudden, he wasn't happy with where it was placed. In one swift move, it was slid around the table to sit next to hers.

Actions spoke louder than words, he reminded himself. His Ma used to tell him that and it was something he had lived by since. Words were hard for him, but actions? He could make do with those.

After taking his seat, Daryl reached behind him to get out a spoon, as realizing that his jar of jelly had reached beyond the point where he could easily scoop it out with his fingers. With a smile, he thought back to her adverse reaction to his way of eating just yesterday.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her gather up some supplies—paper and a pen—before she turned to glance at him. "I'm gonna leave a thank you note," she said before turning her attention towards the paper.

His curiosity and admiration was piqued again, as he wondered why she would do that. But he knew that already. It was just _Beth_, just who she was—the type of person who would write a thank you note for someone who may not even return to read it.

How had that idea even occurred to her to begin with, he wondered. What would she write about? Who would she address it to? What exactly would she say? He found himself leaning in, trying to steal a glance at the paper to answer just that.

"Why?" he asked, as he took another swipe at the jelly.

"For when they come back," she started with a shrug, as her eyes maintained focus on the paper. "_If_ they come back," she said before pausing again to look up in thought. "Even if they're not coming back, still wanna say thanks." She looked up and met his eyes briefly, before looking back to the paper.

Her words forced him to think. She wasn't naïve, he verified, as he heard her question the return of this other person. But she wasn't devoid of hope either. Even if they didn't return, she thought they still deserved some recognition for the shelter they had provided.

As he took in the sight around him—not just of the kitchen, either, as thoughts of his casket drifted into his mind—he realized it wouldn't be luck at all, if they got to leave in a day or two. He didn't want that, hadn't wanted it for the majority of the day, possibly even since the previous evening.

They could do it, he realized. They could stay here, make a home out of the place. Just the two of them. He'd spent a good chunk of the day trying to increase her happiness. He didn't think there was a better way to do it than this. To increase _their_ happiness, as he'd be lying if he said he didn't like the idea of staying here, hunkering down for the winter—just the two of them.

_But other people_, Merle's voice whispered to him. As if by reflex, his eyes came up to scan her face. Before he even exerted any control over the course of his thoughts, they wound their way to what she would say. They could be good, he thought—and it wasn't even in her voice this time. The people who came back, yeah, they could be like the Governor. If they were, he'd take care of her—take care of them.

But they could be like Rick too. He wasn't looking to replace the one man left on the entire planet that felt like a brother to him. But, if an opportunity came along to extend their family, who was he to say no?

She wouldn't, he knew that much. Suddenly, he knew this had a chance of working.

"Maybe you don't have to leave that," he said, his eyes on the note, only to pause to look up from the note to meet her eyes; he wanted to be ready to read her reaction.

She didn't disappoint, as she shortly stopped writing and looked up to him. But, at the last second, knowing what he was about to say, and what it would imply, his eyes just chickened out, looking back to his jar of jelly. "Maybe we stick around here for a while."

He could feel her eyes on him, reading him. But, still, his refused to meet hers. "It may be nuts," he stopped shortly, before forcing himself to continue. "It may be alright." At that, he couldn't resist anymore. He had to look up and see her reaction. The smile that overcame her had that clenching feeling in his gut tightening all over again.

"So you do think there are still good people around." It wasn't a question, but he would've been surprised if it had been; that was just Beth. It confirmed for him that, while he didn't know for sure about other people, he knew for damn certain there was at least one good person left in this shithole of a world, and she was sitting right next to him.

The sheer wattage of her smile was maddening. Despite the fact that he felt assured that her reaction was nothing but positive—overjoyed, in fact, if he had to guess—he couldn't bring himself to hold her stare for too long, not with what he knew needed to be said. It made him feel embarrassingly shy, in comparison to how they had come to be around each other.

"What changed your mind?" she asked, after he noticed her alternating her look between him and the paper out of the corner of his eye. She settled on looking at him, as she always did in moments like this; he knew she was trying to get a read on him.

As soon as the question left her mouth, he found his eyes doing some alternating of their own. He suddenly became increasingly grateful for the jelly jar in his hands, and not just because it was the sweetest food they had had in weeks. It served as a diversion, something to focus on when he couldn't stand the curiosity burning in her eyes.

She didn't know? She didn't know what had brought on this change of opinion? How could she not see it, he wondered. She saw _everything_; at least, so far as he could see, she did.

Sure, he had expected that the extent of the grip that was currently clenched around his gut would remain a mystery to her, and with that the depth of what he was feeling and the conclusions that he had come to. But _this_? He had been certain she'd've caught it.

If he had been shy before, he was now damn near embarrassed into silence, although he realized he didn't really have any reason to be. This was the easy part, he thought. It was the other foot that should drop as a result that could be problematic.

"You know," he settled on saying as his eyes glued themselves to the jelly jar. He needed to give her the benefit of the doubt; maybe she just needed a bit of prodding to finalize some suspicions she had on the issue, he thought.

"What?" she asked, with a smile. When Daryl looked up at her as soon as she uttered the reply, he realized she really didn't seem to know. The genuine curiosity written all over her face left him no other option in understanding.

He was simultaneously surprised and unsurprised. He knew she was perceptive, but he also knew he was damn near impossible to read—he had worked very hard to make it that way. And while he knew she was good, she couldn't be perfect—not all the damn time, anyway.

It made sense, really—it just fit what he knew of her. She was selfless, one of the least selfish people he had ever met. Of course she would never assume it was her, would never assume she had the power to sway his opinion in such a way. Always humble and never haughty, always serving and seeing to the needs of others above her own.

Daryl did his best to keep his cool, despite the feeling of discomfort that had come over him at choosing to confront this situation head on. It wasn't necessarily unpleasant; it just wasn't his idea of a fun time.

Daryl's eyes continued to alternate between her and the jelly, despite the fact that hers never seemed to leave his face. She didn't even seem frustrated that he wasn't holding her eyes. How did she _do_ that? How did she keep a cool head with him?

"Mmm-hmm," he muttered with a shake of his head, his eyes in the jelly part of his focus cycle.

"Don't mmm-hmm," she said and he looked up to find her mimicking his shrug and headshake. Her tone wasn't cold or rude; she was clearly just making a stand, just as she had on the front lawn of their moonshine shack. Even in defiance she managed to keep a cool tone and hold that silly smile in place on her face. He marveled at her again.

But then her expression changed, got more serious as she again asked in a clear tone "what changed your mind?" He still didn't think she knew what he was getting at, but they were getting down to something.

For him to not answer like this—it was strange between them, after all they'd discussed in the last month together. He knew she'd take notice of that, if nothing else. It was starting to clue her in, and he could almost feel the other shoe preparing to drop.

But she still didn't know, he realized with her repeated framing of the question. It would've been almost funny, if the situation wasn't so difficult for him—she continued to press to know the answer, failing to notice that she _was _the answer.

Just like the night before, he knew he couldn't rely on his voice. It would just crack and fail and fall to the floor with nothing accomplished. He wouldn't even know how to put words to that clenching feeling to define it.

Words were her strong point, not his. No, he knew what betrayed him, he thought. And it was time.

He had known since the night before that it might come down to this, that he might need to find some way to communicate the impossible. If this confrontation had come twenty-four hours before now, it would've been a mess of doubts, nerves and fear of rejection.

But he had had his time, he had processed and gotten used to the idea. Now, there may still be those nerves, but there was definitely no doubt, as he looked up to meet her eyes.

Daryl held steady contact with her for the first time since he had moved his chair next to hers. He let everything leak out through his eyes, as he stared at her unwaveringly and focused in on the progressively tightening clenching around his gut.

Instead of inhibiting him, he was surprised to find it only drove him on—driving out any lingering nerves or embarrassment he might've been feeling. It spurred him on, prompting him to tilt his chin upwards, in the hopes of giving her better access—an even fuller look at what he was trying to convey.

Her expression tightened and he could've sworn he literally heard the other foot drop. He didn't look away though—he was in this now, committed and devoted. He didn't seek to diffuse the tension; those times were gone—this had progressed to the point where things needed to be taken seriously. He knew that, and, if the look on her face was any measure to judge by, she had just realized it too.

"Oh," she said, as her eyes remained glued on his. She was no longer smiling, he noticed, but she wasn't cringing or flinching either, not in the least. It wasn't a definitely great reaction, but it wasn't definitely bad either. It made him only want to look at her longer, in the hopes that he could continue to convey everything without being forced to say a word; he just didn't trust his voice enough for it.

Beth had just taken a gasp of breath to speak—a sound that sent a chill running down his spine before he could even really process taking in the sound—when he heard it, the rattling of the cans. Part of him was relieved for the break in the tension; but there was an even larger part that was very eager to hear what she had to say.

Even though he knew the space from the conversation would do them both some good, his mind wouldn't shut up about it. He wondered what she'd say, as soon as he got back. What would she do? How would she react? What was she thinking right now?

The dog would cheer her up, he thought, and suddenly he was determined to get it for her. It was just the latest in a line of efforts to make her happier. He hoped he didn't screw up this time.

As soon as he opened the door, he knew he had done just that. "Beth!" he called, as he pushed back and tried to force the decaying hands of the Walkers from their front door. No matter what mistake he had just made, her safety would remain the top priority for him; he owed her that at the very least. "Run!" he insisted.

Several seconds passed in silence, but he could hear her injured hobbling; it was enough to reassure him that they didn't have a breach anywhere else.

He heard her moving quicker, fast enough to do more damage than had already been done to that ankle of hers.

"I'm not gonna leave you!" She yelled and it just made that clenching feeling spasm out of control, sending his stomach on a roller coaster ride.

"Get your shit," he insisted. "I'll meet you at the road!"

They had come too far, made too much progress, stuck together too strongly to be pried apart. He would meet her on that road if it was the last thing he did.

After hearing her climb out a window, he knew he needed lure their new friends away from the door to insure she could safely make it to the road. Daryl weaved his way down towards the freshly painted Walkers and nearly cornered himself in, depleting his collection of arrows in the process. He barely managed to escape and weave his way back up and away from the lazy sons of bitches that tried to follow him.

The sight of her bag crumpled on the ground sent a chill up his spine. His gut felt as if it had just been put on ice, as he leaned down to pick up the bag. Something had gone wrong.

A skid of a tire had him moving instantly. He called her name so many times he lost count, as he did his best to keep up with the car.

_It ain't possible, baby brother_, Merle whispered to him. Daryl brushed it away; he didn't need to hear that shit. He would catch up to her or he would die trying, and that was it.

Eventually, the car slipped out of his sight. Didn't stop him, though, as he ran, continued to run, ran until he felt like he could collapse. But he didn't, he refused to.

He didn't realize the sun had even come up until it had obviously been up for several hours, barely visible through a cloudy haze. He paused for just a moment, almost feeling as if he could throw up his lungs. He swallowed deeply as he wiped the sweat from his forehead and settled on continuing.

And he did. He continued for hours—or had it been days? Following the only path that they could've obviously followed.

Until he came to the crossroads. As he looked from one road to another, he felt like his lungs wanted to revolt purely out of anger and overuse all over again. Which way had the car gone?

There was no way to know for sure, he realized as he finally allowed himself to collapse to the ground. His bow slipped out of his hands in the process and, for the first time ever, he found that he didn't care, not in the slightest. He had always felt naked without the weapon before, but not now.

His eyes set to his legs, unable to look up and take in the two roads, as they only reminded him of what he had lost, of the choice he now had to make.

He passed several hours this way, just sitting and ignoring the environment around him, plagued by thoughts of should've, could've, would've.

He should've stayed with her, not let her out of his sight. If he had done that, if he had done his one fucking job in the whole fucking world right, she would be here by his side right now, and not off with whatever the hell human being had the nerve to take a girl like Beth.

He should've moved quicker, should've found a way to evade the Walkers, get to the road faster. If he could've done that right, he could've stopped the whole thing before it even really started—could've intervened as soon as the asshole came up to her.

He should've—should've—should've _told _her, not danced around the damn thing. Sure, words were a bitch for him, but she had deserved to know, deserved better that what she got, deserved better than _him_.

_No_, her voice found its way into his head again. _I'm not gonna leave you_, it said to him, just as he had heard before she had been taken. It told him so many things and he was immediately glad that she had said it, even if he had forced her to leave anyway and gotten her into an even worse situation.

It told him she hadn't voluntarily hopped in any asshole's car—but he knew that already. It just wasn't her to do that, even if she hadn't liked what he'd implied before they were separated. They relied on each other, even if she hadn't hoped for it to become what he had thought—what he had considered—what he had _hoped_ for.

It also suggested to him that he wasn't alone, that their last conversation and the following life or death situation had brought some things to her attention, things he really wished he could know right now, things that he felt would give him the hope he needed if he had any chance of picking his damn ass up off this street.

Then, just like that, his eyes snapped up to take in the crossroads again. Daryl knew what Beth would say—she would overanalyze this situation and resolve that it was perfect, symbolic, really, of what he needed to do now. He had a choice to make; he had known that since his ass had firmly planted on the pavement. And it wasn't just what road he'd take—it was a decision that would affect him, and his future.

The way he saw it, he could turn around, go back to the way he had been before he and Beth had gotten out together, the way he had been since they had lost Sophia—surly, a bit bitter at times. Someone who saw nothing but an ugly world with ugly old him thriving away—a world full of even uglier people and Walkers. He could go back to assuming his family was dead, that Be—that _she_ was dead. He could shut down and just go back to making his own way in this shithole of a world, others be damned.

_Or_, Beth's voice drawled in his head and he could almost hear the smile and laugh in her voice. He could continue on, continue looking for Beth, continue looking for their family. Whichever one he found first, he knew they'd help him find the other.

He looked up again and glanced from one road to another. It wasn't even a choice, he decided.

He knew she was alive. There was just no other option, no other way. Daryl had taught her well, taught her what she needed to know to make her way through a situation like that. The only reason she had probably been taken was on account of her injury.

No, she was definitely still alive, he reassured himself, as his thoughts flirted with going in another direction entirely. But he refused to do it—refused to think of her in any other way. To lose her would be to lose his hope, and he just didn't want to live that way anymore.

He'd find her, of that he was sure. There was no other option anymore. Not for him.

**I feel like it should be noted at this juncture that, in addition to not owning one iota of ****_The Walking Dead_****, I also don't own one word of ****_Harry Potter_****. But damn do I wish I did.**


	15. Surviving Part I

**Just a brief moment here to respond to reviews—last chapter drew in the most reviews thus far! Two of my regular reviewers cried; it simultaneously breaks my heart and warms it to know that you take what I have to say to heart. I know, that last one was rough; it wasn't an easy one to write. But I'm delighted to hear so much encouragement for me to continue! So, therefore, we'll move forward, after just a bit more ado**

**From here on out, from Beth's point of view, the story is going to sort of work on a running theory I've got surrounding who took her. What I've arrived at is a bit of a composite between theories I've read online and some information I've stumbled upon from the comics. What follows is what I suspect (and, by that, I mean what I ****_hope_****) has actually happened to Beth, including the reunion I've dreamed up in my head. **

**If you wish to avoid potential spoilers of how things could go down for season five—****_boy _****if only that could actually be the case. I'm nowhere near that good. At least, I don't think so anyway—you could stop reading here, if you'd like. Let's just say, it doesn't involve her being tucked away somewhere in Terminus, not even slightly. You've been warned!**

**Therefore, these two are going to be spending a bit of time apart. I think that's authentic, though; unfortunately, I don't see an immediate reunion in the Bethyl future. But, it won't be a ton of time, as I'm just as eager to write the reunion as everyone in the ship is at this point. I'm hoping three chapters of absence, per character. But, it needs to happen; absence does, as they say, make the heart grow fonder :-)**

**Additional Note: This chapter, and the above notes, was completed before a series of very promising photos were leaked from the set of season five. It's shaping up that my theory could, to some degree, quite possibly, be correct, although the details will inevitably differ. Consider this the final warning to avoid potential spoilers :-)**

"Oh." The response sounded so silly to her, even as she felt her smile drop slightly. But it wasn't released out of a need to recoil, of at least that much she was certain.

If she were to be honest, she wasn't sure what she was feeling precisely. No, that wasn't true, she realized. She was _shocked_—surprised beyond belief that this had been there, calling for her attention, and she had somehow managed to missed it.

When had it developed, she wondered. Had it been happening all along and she had just missed the signs, failed to read them appropriately? Or was this a recent development? Something that had perhaps only just finalized in their time spent at the funeral home?

Regardless of how she had managed to miss it up until this point, she wasn't missing it now. His eyes, his expression, his body language—when exactly had he moved his chair so close to hers?—all of it was saying that things had changed fundamentally between them.

But was he thinking what she thought he was? Was she receiving his message clearly? Suddenly she felt very insecure in her ability to read him, which she had previously thought was pretty honed. But, now, with missing this, it caused her to wonder.

No, she realized. There was no doubt there in his eyes, not any more. He was looking at her head on now, no longer nervous or embarrassed by the fact that _she _was the answer—that she was _his_ answer.

The rush that fluttered through her stomach at that thought was unexpected, but not unpleasant. She had just gasped to speak, hoping to confirm that he was thinking what she believed him to be, when their cans rattled. Suddenly, she didn't want him to go. Beth needed verification, so she could move forward with processing this new information.

While she couldn't deny that she knew the space could do them both some good, it felt like an unnecessary diversion that would only add on to the time they had lost by her ignorance.

When he shouted her name, she bit her tongue and wished they had just been graced with thirty extra seconds before the horrors of the world had come crashing back on their front doors. Thirty extra seconds—what she could _do_ with thirty extra seconds. Ask several key questions; receive several crucial answers in return.

But, no, this world had deprived her of that luxury. By doing so, by placing what she knew could only be Walkers and not their new pet dog on their front door, it had ironically rendered the questions useless, in her opinion.

The sudden presentation of crisis and a life or death situation made several things very clear to her. Fundamentally, she was still injured. Suddenly, as she heard what she could only call a herd pounding on their front door, she no longer cared, due in large part to the clarity afforded by the prospect of potentially losing Daryl forever.

Whatever he had been trying to tell her, whatever feelings he had been trying to declare, she realized she returned them, with equal fervor. It had reached the point where her ankle no longer mattered to her. She was injured and would obviously provide very little help in a fight or flight situation, but she didn't care, not in the slightest.

She knew instantly that she needed to stay behind, stay with him, get him back in her sight and refuse to part with him until they had managed this situation, as they had all the previous ones that had come their way.

"I'm not gonna leave you!" she declared as she walked harder than she probably should on that blasted ankle. She didn't care though, as she barely even registered a twinge of pain.

Daryl remained adamant. She wasn't surprised in the least, but she didn't like it. It wasn't that she didn't think he could handle himself in a fight—if there was one thing Beth knew for sure in this world, it was that—but she simply didn't want to leave him behind.

But she trusted him, without fail and without a moment's hesitation. If he said he'd meet her out on the road, he'd do it or he'd die trying. It was a fact that she was particularly assured of, because, just as he would die trying to meet her, she would die trying to hold her ground and be waiting for him when he got there.

_This_ was a damn romance novel, she thought vaguely with a smile. But, given their circumstances, wherein they literally had not one other soul in the world to count on, not one other person to call family, she supposed they could be forgiven.

So, despite her own reservations, and the pressing she felt from her inability to immediately express her feelings and clarify the situation they had left lying on the floor of the kitchen, she pulled herself together to grab her things and make an exit out the nearest accessible window.

Her route of exit deposited her on the side of the building, far closer to the herd of Walkers than she would've liked. But she cared very little for her own position. Seeing the grouping surge forward as he unhinged the door, Beth felt as if someone had gripped her throat and shut down her airway.

Daryl was brilliant, almost failingly perfect in a fight, but there were just _so_ many. She wouldn't feel okay again until he made his way out of the house and approached her on the road. She decided, right then and there, he'd have a hug waiting for him when he did.

She had been distracted, not paying nearly as much attention to holding up her end of the bargain—her promise that she would be here, waiting for him, as soon as he could get to her.

She had known her focus was compromised, but she couldn't help it—as she searched frantically for any sign of him, whilst keeping an eye on the few Walkers that had lingered outside instead of falling for his distraction. They had been heading in her direction, causing her eyes to alternate between searching every possible window he could find his way out of and shedding precautionary glances towards the Walkers who could become a problem if they got too close.

She hadn't heard the car, although she found herself wondering briefly if perhaps it had been there previously and she simply hadn't noticed it amidst her other distractions. But Beth definitely felt the sudden tug that came to her bag, as it was pulled from her shoulders and crashed to the ground. An instinctual scream sprung to her lips, but before she could even release it, a hand slipped around her neck to clamp down around her mouth.

"Don't scream," a deep voice whispered in her ears. She didn't listen, and started screaming and struggling instantly. She had a promise to uphold, and she'd do her damndest to see it through, or die trying.

Her struggling forced a second arm to come around her, this time positioned around her waist to secure a hold on her and pin her arms in place. It was a mistake, though, on the part of her attacker, as she was now lined up perfectly to quickly jammed the heel of her boot into the incline of the foot directly behind hers.

The attacker coughed in discomfort, but was careful to avoid making much else noise, as they drew the attention of more lingering Walkers.

"I'm trying to help you," the man insisted and Beth couldn't help but think his position seemed to suggest otherwise. She couldn't see his face, but she could tell that he was African American from the hand that was still clenched around her mouth, rendering all the screaming she was still trying to carry out as nearly useless. His voice was also crisp, if sounded…almost clean, in a way. Well educated, with not one hint of a southern drawl.

When her only response—thanks to the hand still clenched around her mouth—was to increase her struggles, he turned and brought the car into her eyesight. It was black, which could've explained how she had missed it on a night like this one, where there was very little moon in the sky. She spotted the cross spanning the length of the back windshield and suddenly felt as if the crucifix around her neck was burning into her skin.

That couldn't be a coincidence, could it?

Beth felt the man push her towards the opened door that revealed the lengthy backseat. Her struggles resumed with a renewed force, as she continued to loudly protest against his hand, trying to bite him and scream simultaneously. It made both tasks more difficult, but she knew she didn't have a lot of time to work with. If she could only put this off for a few minutes, Daryl would be there. She just knew it.

She swung her legs up to plant them on the side of the door, using their position to push against him, forcing herself back towards his chest and away from the door. It was painful torture on her injured ankle, but she knew it was now or never; she pushed through the pain.

"Quiet!" he whispered desperately, as she felt him turn his head in the direction of the increasing number of Walkers that were approaching them. "I'm trying to rescue you from _them_!"

Beth ached to be able to speak, to be able to tell him that she wasn't in need of rescuing, at least, not from the Walkers. This person, on the other hand…

Of course, Beth was no hypocrite. She knew perfectly well that there were good people left in this world. But she wasn't naïve either—she knew there were others out there, just like the Governor.

And, just because this man was proclaiming that he was trying to rescue her from the Walkers didn't mean he was automatically a saint. The Governor had tried too, she recalled—lured people in under the name of safety and security, out of the grips of his Biters. She had seen all too well how that had worked out for the members of Woodbury.

She had to be careful; she had to keep fighting. She refused to be taken down this easily, refused to be taken from Daryl _this _easily. They had come too far, made too much progress—it just wasn't right!

The man reached around and did his best to bat her legs down from their position on the car. He—apparently inadvertently, if his surprised gasp indicated anything—managed to slam his fist down on that perfect reflex spot on her knee that her daddy had showed her once when she was little to make her laugh. Normally, if it was just hit lightly, it made your leg pop out beyond your control. When it was hit like this man struck it, it was significantly less pleasant.

With a grunt, her leg popped and caused both of the appendages to come tumbling down. She felt tears push at her eyes out of reflex from both the pain and the panic that rose in her throat. For the first time since the start of this conflict, Beth began to realize that she might not win this fight.

As quick as that thought came, despite the revamped struggles that panic prompted, she felt herself being forced forward, with a trajectory towards the opened car door. But, at the last moment, she could've sworn something had gone wrong, something wasn't right. She wasn't heading in the right direction.

With a gasp, she felt the pain of her ankle twisting unexpectedly, as it gave out from the strain of being treated as a fully healed body part when it clearly wasn't. It changed her path and, as a result, altered her final destination. She saw the black material of the side of the car, as the man lost his footing and only worsened matters.

Soon, she couldn't tell what was black—the car or her vision, as she felt the persuasive tug of unconsciousness. Her body was suddenly beyond her own control, as she felt the squish of a car seat settling beneath her. Anger arose in her, as she realized her body hadn't continued to hold down the fight without the demanding reigns of her mind. As the door slammed shut, she heard the driver enter the car and place it in gear quickly.

Tears fell as she heard her name being called. His voice sounded so full of panic, so full of dread. It had been so long since she had heard either of those things in his voice, and she nearly threw up at hearing them now.

She tried desperately to call back to him, but, soon, yet another thing was beyond her control, as her eyes slowly drooped closed.

:::~:::

It was the light, in the end—the light that forced her eyes open. But she immediately wondered how that was possible—how so many things were possible. Instantly, a million questions flashed through her mind. She didn't know where she was, and that fact alone had a wave of panic pushing to overtake her.

How could it be light out, she wondered. And then she remembered. And then she knew why she was moving, or, rather, what she was in that was moving. The memory of her head, either intentionally or unintentionally, meeting the metal of the car sent a cringe through her, as a resounding headache crashed upon her. She could feel it now, the sizeable bump that was forming on her forehead. Beth ran her hands over it, but knew that that was not her biggest concern, not by far.

She didn't know where she was, she didn't know who she was with. And, worst yet, she didn't know where Daryl was. It was light out, albeit a cloudy sort of dim light. But she knew immediately that it had to be at least mid-day, if not later. That had meant they had been travelling for quite some time—travelling directly away from Daryl. It made her throat clench to think about it.

_No time for that_, a voice whispered to her and she nearly gasp at the realization that it was clearly and distinctively Daryl's. The sound of his deep, gruff tone nearly had tears springing to her eyes. How could she fail him like this? How could she leave him standing on that road? How could she not hold up her end of the promise?

_Pipe down_, his voice said to her. She didn't know if it was insanity or the result of unreasonable panic, but it somehow managed to work. She needed to keep her cool—she knew that was what he was trying to tell her, what she was trying to tell herself, really.

If she had any hope of getting out of this and finding Daryl again, she needed an exit strategy. She lowered her hand from her injury and her eyes once again found the cross on the windshield. Beth's hands lowered to the necklace around her neck, as she was reminded of the suspicions she hadn't really been allowed to explore the previous night during their conflict.

She knew she couldn't overpower him, not in her state. And to do so, with him behind the wheel, would only further compromise her safety. She needed to be alive to find Daryl. To survive, she needed to play this smart, play to her own advantages.

It wasn't strategy, per say. She just knew what she needed to say, what she needed to express to the silent man from the front seat.

The fact that he had evidently not even noticed that she had stirred actually spurred Beth on. She knew this man wasn't necessarily malicious; if he had wanted to kill her or do any myriad of horrible things to her, he would've taken advantage of her unconscious and docile state to see to them. But he hadn't. It gave her the faith that she could persuade him—make him see reason. The cross that still held her gaze only confirmed it for her.

"It was yours, wasn't it?" she asked as she slowly eased herself to a seated position. A wave of dizziness washed over her, but it was only temporary; she saw this as a good sign.

The man in front of her gasped in shock and swerved a bit in surprise. She hung on to the passenger seat to avoid shifting with the car.

"You're awake," he said with a sigh, which sounded almost as if it were released in relief.

From her position in the backseat, she could get a distinctly better view of him than she had managed the previous night in their conflict. He was obviously a religious authority, not merely a reverent, devoted Christian, as his clothes were that of a church official.

The situation was a strange one to Beth. While she wouldn't have put it past some of the remaining humans on the face of the earth, she didn't suspect that this man was wearing the clothing as a disguise. Her inclination wasn't simply because of the religious items dispersed throughout the car either; there was just a feeling she got from him that seemed to disclaim that he was who he appeared to be.

However, that still didn't automatically earn her trust. No matter what one's religious declaration may be, the world had changed. Not many had been afforded an opportunity to be saved from the horrors of the world. They had all been forced to do things they hadn't wanted to do, things that went against the very nature of humans. She had her doubts this man could be any different.

Things could be done, of course, to preserve one's humanity. She had certainly actively sought to do so. She could hope that perhaps this man was of the same mind, but there was no guarantee of that. Not anymore.

"Yes," she answered cautiously. "What's your name?"

"Father Gabriel Stokes," he said as he looked away from the road briefly to nod his greeting to her.

"Father," she began, as she felt her tone tremble. With every second he drove, the further she got from where she wanted to be, from who she wanted to be with.

"Don't—" he interrupted with a troubled sigh. "Just…don't." Immediately, Beth was curious. The pain in his voice was clear and, for a second, her heart contracted for him.

He may have taken her against her will, but she suspected he had no malicious intentions; if anything, he was obviously hurting and in need of company. _No one can make it alone, not anymore_, she heard Daryl's voice whisper to her and it nearly made her cringe in agony. She _needed _to find her way back to him.

"If…if you didn't want to be called Father, why do you include it when you introduce yourself?" she asked, her tone serious, but never rude. Something had happened to him; he had certainly not escaped unscathed from the end of the world, just as she had suspected. The confirmation only hurt her heart further. If a man of religion couldn't survive the end of the world with his sense of self intact, who could?

He appeared to think on her question for a minute before answering. "Out of habit, I suppose," he responded with a shrug, his eyes still adamantly set to the road.

"What would you like me to call you, then?" she asked, understanding that his lack of further specifying indicated that he didn't wish to go into further detail. They all had secrets, she realized. It took a special connection with someone particular to prompt whole truths anymore. She thought of Daryl, causing her throat to tighten again.

"Gabriel is fine," he answered.

"Gabriel," she started with a sigh. "I understand what you did last evening, I really do. You thought you were saving me from the Walkers—"

"Walkers?" he interrupted. "Not Roamers?"

"That isn't what I know them by," she responded, nothing but curiosity in her tone. The varying titles for the creatures continually intrigued her, but that wasn't what she needed to address right now. "Regardless, I know you were only trying to save me from them. But I had someone waiting for me back there, someone relying on me." The sadness just leaked out of her tone, but there was no other way she was going to successfully get through what she knew she had to say.

"The man with the crossbow?"

"You saw him?" she asked, her voice raising several octaves in surprise.

"Right after—I had just…taken my seat in the car." Even he sounded troubled by the situation.

"Then why didn't you let me out? He would've kept me safe, I assure you. We would've kept each other safe…" She found herself trailing off as her thoughts turned once more to the sound of him calling out her name. No, she told herself. She needed to focus, if she was going to find her way back to him.

"You could've even joined us!" she started eagerly, hoping this plan sounded satisfactory to him, as she hoped he would agree to take her back. "We had actually discussed the possibility of the owner of the funeral home returning—"

"He knew what had happened, I'm sure of it," Gabriel began. She noticed that he seemed adamant on refusing to meet her eyes, prompting her to believe he may actually feel ashamed of his behavior. "And…well, the look of him. It was just…_I _was just…it was dark, with the Roamers…and his crossbow."

"You were scared," she said softly, not wishing to alarm him or push him off. But she suspected he wouldn't deny it, and he didn't. "It's okay, Gabriel. In a world like this one, we all get scared. It's just a fact of life now—unavoidable. It's what you do with that fear that matters."

The expression on his face seemed to tell her that he had learned that lesson all too well. She couldn't help but think that he perhaps didn't know it as well as he thought he did, as she wouldn't be here now if he had. Beth released a deep sigh, doing her best to keep down another wave of panic. She could do this, she knew she could.

"You shouldn't have taken me from my him," she said, her tone soft as she did her best to look him in the eye sternly. Even if he refused to look at her, she knew he could see her out of the corner of his eye. "He was part of my family—he…he was important to me. I understand why you did what you did, I really do," she bit her lip. "But now I need you to help me get back to him. Back to my family."

"Your—you still have a family?" The regret was written all over his face; what Beth couldn't quite riddle was what exactly he was regretful for. He obviously felt remorse about his actions from the previous night, but, if that were his only crime, wouldn't he have simply turned the car around the moment she specified that that was what she wanted? That Daryl hadn't been a threat to her?

"I hope so," she said with a nod. "Where we were staying—our home—"

"The funeral home?"

"No," she responded sadly, thinking once more of the prison. She really did miss it. "We had a place, it had been secure—we had _thought_ it was secure. Someone came and…invaded. There's no other word for it," she clarified distractedly, as she remembered the tank as if it were charging up her front yard all over again, right here, right now.

"We all scattered as we ran. I'm still not sure who all made it out. Daryl and I—that was his name. _Daryl_," she paused as she reiterated, as she felt her tone infuse with all the things she had left unsaid at the funeral home. "He and I escaped together and have been attempting to track them ever since. We haven't had much luck, but I'm sure at least some of them had to make it out."

"You're very lucky," Gabriel said and she could've sworn she saw just a bit of water inhabit his eyes. "It sounds like you had a large family."

"I do," she answered with a nod and a smile, as she remembered the people she still held so dear. "But if I'm to have any hope of finding them, we need to get back to Daryl."

"Why?" Gabriel asked, and she could almost hear the fear leaking through his voice.

"Daryl taught me the basics, tracking and hunting. But, to find our family, we'll need him. He's an expert—beyond an expert, really," she finished with a small smile, before her eyes came up to look back out the windshield. "And that's why I desperately need you to turn the car around."

The silence pressed on for what felt to be ages for Beth. She didn't wish to rush him, but she felt nearly desperate with a need to hear his decision. For the life of her, she didn't know what she'd say or do if he said that wasn't a possibility.

But the silence was somewhat comforting; it meant he was, at the very least, considering her proposition.

"Do you promise—if—if we go back there, and find the man with the crossbow—"

"_Daryl_," she whispered with an encouraging nod. She wanted him to get familiar with the name, in the hopes that it would help ease the discomfort he still obviously felt.

"If we find him, will you make sure he doesn't—doesn't…I don't know. Doesn't punish me for my sins? Punish me for taking you?"

Beth instantly bit down on her lip, unsure of how to respond. She could make that promise, but she couldn't guarantee Daryl would uphold it once they found him. She'd like to think that, with a kindly spoken word from her, he'd contain himself, but, after what Father Gabriel had done, Beth wasn't so sure that even she'd be able to force him to restrain his hostilities.

"I don't control him, Gabriel. He's a grown man, with a mind of his own. I can tell him your side, tell him you were scared of him and the Walkers, and tell him you thought you were saving me. I can hope that that will be enough to help him see reason, but I can't guarantee it."

The taken aback look that overtook his expression surprised Beth, as she didn't quite know him well enough to be able to predict and read his reactions successfully yet.

"You—you aren't like the others."

"What do you mean?" she asked, her tone soft as she leaned in to place some of her weight on the back of the passenger seat.

"Other humans, other girls. Before…all of this. Some of the women, in my congregation, they would boast to their friends before services started every Sunday, just how they could manipulate the man in their life, just how tight a leash they enjoyed having him under."

The words intrigued Beth, as she wasn't quite certain what to make of them. No, she knew she wasn't one of _those_ women, although she had met a few of them both before the turn and after. She struggled to understand anyone like that—who wished to control the people who surrounded them. The Governor had been like that, and it hadn't worked out very well for him.

No, she had no desire to control Daryl. Why would she? She didn't wish to be controlled, so why would she ever turn such a fate on him? Or anyone else for that matter.

"My daddy taught me, treat others as you'd like to be treated," her tone softened even further at the thought of her poor daddy. But, he had taught her well; she had always known he did. It made her hold her chin high. "I don't wanna be on a leash, so what gives me the right to do it to someone else?"

She had no idea what had compelled Gabriel to take this conversation down this track, but she was suddenly grateful he had. Her response seemed to be met with amicable agreement, as a smile actually overtook his face, albeit briefly.

"Your daddy taught you well, then," he said, as his smile quickly faded. "I assume he's with the rest of your family?" Gabriel quickly glanced back at her, and his change in expression told her instantly that her answer must've been written all over her face. "Or did he not make it out?"

She shook her head, her eyes coming to reside on her linked hands that rested in her lap. "He didn't make it."

"And, this…Daryl," Gabriel said and Beth could still hear the hesitance in his voice. "He's all you've had since the attack?"

"Yes," she said, her voice much stronger now as her eyes came back up to his face. She thought of Daryl, of the look on his face in those last few moments they had shared together, and of the sheer amount of emotions he was able to convey through those two little bulbs. Knowing that Gabriel might not even look back to her, she did her best to convey just how much that man meant to her, just as he had done for her a mere few hours prior.

"Could you find him?" Gabriel asked, as his hands wrung around the steering wheel. "If we make it back there?"

Beth thought on his question for several moments before she attempted to respond. There was no way for her to be completely certain, not until they returned to the funeral home and she set herself to work on trying to find him. But, she knew, she had to at least try.

"I think I could," she settled on as a response as she nodded. "I need to see what he's left me to work with once I get there, of course. Tracking Daryl isn't going to be easy, but he taught me pretty well in the few short weeks we had together."

After a few seconds of no response from Gabriel, her mind demanded she put voice to one final plea, one final thought. "I need to try," she said, quietly, her eyes glued so intently to his face that they nearly began to water from sheer concentration and emotion.

Gabriel spent several more minutes driving on in silence, but Beth had no other words to offer him. She had laid her final plea out on the table; if she hadn't persuaded him yet, she would need to rethink things and try again later.

Just as she sat back to start contemplating what other exit strategies she could attempt, Gabriel silently pulled the car over to the side of the road and swung the steering wheel so the car was forced to make a wide circle. Her entire face lit up at the implications, as she carefully reached a hand forward to squeeze his shoulder just once.

"Thank you," she whispered, as tears of joy pressed against her eyes, demanding a release.

:::~:::

By her estimation, they had a few hours' worth of driving before she needed to closely observe her surroundings to look for any sign of Daryl. Regardless, she kept herself poised at her window, glancing this way and that, looking for any indication that he had been near.

Her eyes may have held the focus, but her brain had wandered elsewhere. Now that she was back on the course to potentially finding Daryl, her mind was at ease to meander through the events of the last few days.

As far as she could tell, it began at the moonshine shack. She had made a stand that day, forced him to see her as someone other than the caretaker, the sister, the daughter. Things hadn't been the same since that day, since they had worked together to burn down the collective of their past inhibitors.

They had become close after that evening, but it hadn't necessarily been romantic. Training commenced, and, while it had always been a very physical endeavor for them, she knew quite a bit of that had been out of necessity—showing was a far more effective teaching strategy than telling; she had learned that first hand with baby Judith.

But it had gone beyond that at some point. There had come a time when it had become almost an expectation, an assumed facet of the sessions. When he had started taking second in command and allowing her to be on point, it had changed, and she had noticed that he seemed restless, eager to fidget. She just hadn't connected the restive behavior as a direct reaction to the change in the composition of their sessions.

That had been the opening of the door; she knew it now, as if it were a cemented fact, although she knew she had missed the implications of the behavior at the time.

Once they settled into the funeral home, that was when she really started to notice a change. But the changes she observed—she hadn't thought of them in terms of a romantic connection. They had grown to know each other intimately, assuredly, but romantically?

She wasn't sure why that thought had never occurred to her. Perhaps, she thought, it had been a means of self-preservation. It had just been the two of them for over a month, by her calculations. While she still held adamant faith that their family was somewhere in this world, it could be any number of days or months until they managed to find them again.

Entering a romantic situation under such a strained survival setting could've led to dangerous results. She would be the first to admit that her dedication to him, in such circumstances, would override any need to survive in this world; such declaration came under the heading of _living_ in this world in light of _surviving_.

Regardless, she realized, if she hadn't thought of the change in their relationship as romantic previously, she certainly was seeing it in those terms now. As soon as that last piece of the puzzle slid into place, all other things began to make sense.

He had become increasingly more comfortable with physical contact in regards to her. Previously, Beth had merely assumed that came with the intimate knowledge they had developed of each other. Now, she saw that it was a physical manifestation of his developing feelings. Daryl Dixon didn't do words—but he always acted with the full dedication and strength of his heart.

Suddenly, actions such as helping her injured hobbling, to the piggyback ride, to his encouraging response at her outreach for his hand no longer seemed innocent; they felt powerful, as if they were each a declaration.

Beth suspected he didn't mean all of them to be so, at least not at first. Helping her with her injury was the smartest move for both of them; an injury such as hers could've cost them both their lives. But, as time carried on, and her leg had started to heal, she could see that it was no longer a necessity; he had done it because he wanted to do it, wanted to help her and ease her struggle as much as he could.

This was also undeniably true in the case of him carrying her to their redneck brunch just yesterday. She would've gotten there, on her own, had he allowed her the time for it. But he had been eager, she noticed. Originally, she had thought it was just so he could show her that he had parted with some of the pigs' feet for her. It had made her smile, although she was unsurprised at the time—they had reached a point where they shared nearly everything; why should food be any different.

Now she saw that he was just eager to share in her company, that he had realized that things had changed.

But when had they changed, she wondered. She could see the fuller implications of some of his actions now, but she still couldn't pinpoint the moment things had started to shift for him.

She thought back on her own emotions over their time spent in the funeral home. They spent so much time together, that the emotions felt by one tended to just naturally permeate through to the other.

When had she felt a switch—something bigger that represented a fundamental shift in her sense of security and safety? With an irrepressible smile, she recalled singing in what would eventually be labeled as his room that first night they were there. It had just felt…different and familiar all at the same time.

She was reminded, in that moment, of the very first night they found the prison and set up camp in the yard. It was the first time she had truly felt safe in such a long time that she couldn't help but fulfill the issued request to sing.

That had been the case the evening before last as well. She felt safe and it made her suddenly elated at the thought of singing for the first time in a long time.

And then he had come in, and she had felt embarrassed at being caught. He had said a thing or two in the past that indicated her singing prompted little other than irritation in him. Knowing that, she had started to sing to busy herself while he took care of securing the funeral home for the evening, in the assumption that she would hear him coming and stop playing in time to prevent any unnecessary awkwardness or strain.

But she hadn't heard him, mostly because she had just become so overjoyed at the natural pleasure singing brought about for her. For a moment, she had forgotten the kind of world they had lived in—a world that demanded she constantly stay on her toes and be vigilant; people who were otherwise didn't tend to survive long in a world such as this one.

Singing did that to her—it allowed her to remember the world as it had once been, a world that she still thought could exist. So, with little regret, she had let it all slip away—the Walkers, the Governor, the losses they had suffered. It was just her and that piano.

When Daryl returned, and, in his own way, managed to ask her to continuing singing, it had surprised her, and not in a way that was inherently unpleasant. As she turned back to the piano, she had been unable to resist the urge to smile. It told her that, no matter what he had said in the past, he cared for it now, cared for _her_ now. She had understood instantly—he knew her better now, understood why she felt so compelled to sing to begin with. He could appreciate it, maybe even admire it.

She should've seen it then, the way things had changed. In a sense she had. If she hadn't felt utterly safe and content—there, in that funeral home with Daryl—she wouldn't have felt compelled to sing to begin with.

But it wasn't just the four walls and the roof, she realized now, although it had escaped her attention at the time. There, in that funeral home, _with Daryl_. Would she have felt so compelled if it had been anyone else with her? Maggie? Glenn? Carol? Carl? Michonne? Rick, even? She loved them all dearly, there was no denying that.

It was just that he made her feel safe. Actually, she rather thought it was quite the opposite. Jimmy had made her feel safe, secure. She could see it now, even if she hadn't at the time—he was the obvious choice for her first significant other, based on their sheer proximity and similar upbringings.

Daryl didn't represent any of that in her mind. He challenged her and she challenged him. He made her better—made her stronger, motivated her to make her stands when she would've previously possibly shied away. She made him better—softer, kinder, understanding, sympathetic, empathetic…_hopeful_.

Yes, she had felt safe at the funeral home _with Daryl_. That was why she had not only felt compelled to sing, but extremely motivated to do so. With Daryl, she wasn't just safe, she didn't just survive. She could _live_.

That was what he saw, that night, in her singing. He had watched her, she was sure of it. At the time, she could practically feel his eyes burning into her back. But she hadn't minded, not in the slightest. She just continued singing, as if the world was composed of just the two of them, just for that little bit of time—so they could escape reality, escape the losses they had suffered, if only until the end of the song.

She could truly make a life with Daryl. And she suspected he had realized similarly that very evening, and it had only brought them closer through the next day, to the point where he prepared to make a stand of his own that evening.

But, she realized, it hadn't been a stand, not really. If anything, he was finally collapsing, finally releasing everything, getting everything off his chest. It had taken him a while, she remembered, as she recalled the deep frustration she had felt at his insistence to stare down that jar of jelly instead of her. She had known it was a diversionary tactic, but she just hadn't known what he was attempting to divert.

But not now. No, now she knew. He had come to a conclusion at some point in that conversation, as he finally summoned everything he had and looked at her, tilted his chin up, and gave her everything.

She hadn't had the chance to give him everything in return. Fate had intervened, forced upon her some time to contemplate and evaluate—time she wasn't so certain she had truly needed, but which she supposed she could be grateful for, even if it meant a struggle ahead to find him. Sure, the extra time had allowed her to process things, catch back up to him, but she couldn't help but think she could've done that just as easily—if not eas_ier_ at his side.

Beth had come to a conclusion of her own. She would waste no more time when they were reunited. He would be waiting, waiting for an answer. She rather thought he had waited quite long enough.


	16. Surviving Part II

**This chapter is really just establishing the roles her and Father Gabriel will play in their time together. It's to show how Beth has changed since her days on the farm and how that has particularly equipped her to deal with the skeletons in his closet.**

**Thank you to all who continue to read, review and encourage! So many of you seem quite excited that this will, at the very least, speculate on what we can expect for season five; to fill the void, if you will. It really warms my heart that all of you have even a remote amount of faith in my theories. I'm so glad that I could bring about a way to ease the passing of time until October :-)**

**Several of you have also commented that my characters suffer very little, if any, out of character thoughts and actions. I really appreciate every single review that mentions this, as that is a personal pet peeve of mine in fan fiction. Thank you so much for the feedback and the reassurance that I'm succeeding in sticking to my own stubborn rule :-)**

Her mind, by some form of a miracle, managed to send a Mayday to her when they reached territory that looked somewhat familiar. In the last few moments before they reached the yard of the funeral home, her eyes frantically searched for any indications that Daryl had been through there. Despite her desperation to find something, _anything_, she, as she suspected she would, faired very little success from her vantage point through the window.

It wasn't long until Father Gabriel came to a stop at the very same spot he had picked her up. As he slid the car into park, she jumped out, already eager to get started.

Beth's hand lingered on the hilt of her knife, recalling all too clearly how Walkers had shuffled the yard just the previous night. The herd seemed to have found its way by now, with only a few stragglers remaining, banging on the front door, probably still smelling Daryl all over the threshold.

Without speaking, per what Daryl and her family had taught her in the cases of Walkers—words could be deadly, if incorrectly timed—she withdrew her knife and started to approach the Walkers bumping around each other on the porch. There were very few remaining, no more than three or four; she felt assured she could handle them, as long as she had the element of surprise still on her side.

"Where are you going?" Father Gabriel called out for her, causing Beth to cringe before she could even think to check it. She reopened her eyes from where they had squinted shut in nervousness at what would await her when they did.

What she saw didn't surprise her in the least. Her element of surprise, hard earned by Daryl's sacrifice to linger at the door the previous evening, resulting in a distracting smell of the living that had kept the Walkers distracted, was now gone.

This changed things, she thought, as she released a soothing breath. She refused the urge to panic and, settled instead, for reminding herself acutely that Daryl had taught her well—prepared her to survive this world on her own, really.

Beth needed to be quick—on the offensive. The Walkers started bumbling towards her, moving their slow walk. They were a hungry herd, she realized, weakened from lack of food. Good, that only worked to her advantage.

One at a time, she conquered them, just as Daryl had taught her. One went by the ear, another by the eye, one through the hollow of the chin. She felt the weight of every death, every loss of undead life. She may not feel guilt from her actions—they were driven by an inherent, uncontrollable desire to survive.

Perhaps _because _of that inherent drive, she knew her actions were not done lightly. She valued her humanity and sense of self far too much to handle these choices with anything resembling a cavalier conception. Every life held a weight, and she intended to relish in the burden. It kept her human, kept her sane, distinguished her from monsters such as the Governor. She would fight till her last breath to maintain that; she'd cling to it, if she had to.

By the end, her hands were covered in undead blood. Every single time she found herself covered in it, she remembered, albeit briefly, the blood dispersed on the lawn of the farm—the very first blood, the blood that had proven it all to her, the blood that had changed her life forever. The blood of what was once her mother. The blood of what was once Sophia.

She may not be as graceful as Michonne or Daryl in a fight, but she got the job done. She may not like the presence of the blood on her hands, but it proved to her that she could manage, could make do.

As she turned back to Father Gabriel, she realized he couldn't. Not in his current state. He stared at her, almost as if he were in shock, unable to believe she, of all people, had managed that.

"How—" he pointed in the direction of the undead bodies that now lay on the ground behind her, his mouth agape and apparently unable to be snapped shut.

With a smile, she knew exactly what she had to say. "I weigh more than I look."

Father Gabriel managed to close his mouth as she slipped her knife back in its sheath. Her eyes still scanned the perimeter; you never could be too careful.

"You've done this before?" Father Gabriel asked her, as he pointed again to the Walkers behind her.

"Yes," she answered softly with a small nod. "Haven't you?" she asked, her tone neither accusatory nor assuming.

Gabriel settled on one short shake of the head to indicate that he had not, in fact, killed Walkers previously. Beth was immediately intrigued; there weren't many people left in the world who could still manage that declaration without telling a lie. But, she knew, without a shade of doubt, that that was the case for Father Gabriel.

How had he managed it, she wondered. Where had he been for the last several years? By her calculations—based purely in the reliability of winter weather, which always appeared like clockwork—it had been three years since the turn. Three years was an exceptional amount of time to survive without being forced into conflict with any Walkers.

"You'll never get used to it," she said, her expression sternly serious, as she recalled her own thoughts from just moments before. "And, if you do, it's already too late."

"Are you? Used to it, that is," he said and she could see him swallow.

"No, and I never will be," she said with a deep sigh as she turned towards the funeral home.

She hadn't realized Father Gabriel had been following her until they reached the door, where he tried to push around her pause and enter. As if by reflex, her hand went out and clutched at his arm.

With a shake of her head, she did her best to communicate that it wasn't safe to enter yet. She eased him backwards, almost to the steps of the porch, merely as a precaution. Just as Daryl had taught her, she pulled out her knife and banged loudly three times on the door.

"What are you—"

In a strange parallel to their fiasco from the previous night that was not lost on her, she slipped her hand over his mouth to cut off his sentence. Beth realized then, that she needed to go about this differently. Obviously, Father Gabriel was not nearly as well versed in the means of survival demanded by the daily course of life in this world. In a sense, he reminded her of the ignorance she had lived in on the farm.

She would have to do for Father Gabriel just as her prison family had done for the naïve Greenes they had found on the farm. They had taken her under their wing—her whole family, really—and taught them the protocol needed to make it in this world. It was only appropriate, to her, that she was now able to pay them back for that by passing on their knowledge, especially if he could then help her find them in turn.

Beth held her silence as she waited to see if any other Walkers managed to find their way to the door. By some miracle, it appeared the rest had moved on. She waited an extra series of moments, though, just to be sure.

When she was assured that it was safe, she turned to Father Gabriel, knife still in hand. She refused to put it away at this juncture, mostly because she found it very difficult to believe that all of the Walkers had since moved on from this place—it served as a precaution, really; but she noticed Gabriel eyed it with nothing but distrust. She realized belatedly, awkwardly, that it was still covered in the blood of the undead.

"If it is okay with you, I'm going to teach you a few things," she started, hoping her smile was somewhat reassuring. "I know you've managed to make it this far without fighting off a Walker, but I'm sad to say that won't always be the case. If we're gonna work together to find my family, I'll need to be able to trust you, to know that you can cover my back, just as I'll cover yours. Does this make sense?" she asked, holding her eyes steady on his. Beth hoped that her kindness and understanding at his expected reservations radiated through her eyes.

"I don't want to be taught to kill," he responded, his expression firm, even as his eyes wandered nervously to glance upon her knife again.

"It isn't pretty," she acknowledged with a nod. "But it what's got to be done if you want to make it out here in the real world."

Beth suspected the only way Father Gabriel had managed to make it this far was his maintaining a shelter—namely in the form of the funeral home. If he had been able to hold out here, there was a chance that he had suffered very few encounters with the Walkers. But, now that they were going to take to the road…it just wouldn't work any other way. She didn't like it, but that's how it was now.

When Father Gabriel met her eyes again and was still shaking his head no, she knew that she needed to explain this to him. If she managed to word her inquiries appropriately, perhaps she could even ascertain some more information about her new traveling partner.

As his eyes lowered once more to the knife, she knew that was to be her first move; she didn't like it—it practically served as her security blanket now that she was without Daryl, but it obviously caused Gabriel discomfort. Once that hand was freed, she brought it to rest warmly on his shoulder, doing her best to offer him some form of comfort, in the hopes that it would stop the frantic shaking of his head.

"You've been staying here for a long time, haven't you?" she asked, her voice warm and soft as she continued to watch his face. He wouldn't meet her eyes for a few moments, but he had, at the very least, stopped the shaking of his head. Finally, the persistence of her eyes on his forced him to meet hers, although he still looked measurably wary. With two or three small nods, he confirmed what she already knew to be a fact.

"How did you know?" he asked.

"You obviously haven't had to fight to make your way in the world. You've been lucky too," she added, as if to remind him of his comment to her earlier.

"This is my second place," he said, his eyes wandering up to look at the funeral home. "I had another, for a bit of time. But—but—things went badly."

His eyes lowered to the ground and Beth knew they were approaching a topic he didn't wish to discuss. It was almost frustrating to her. She had been able to read Daryl so well; long before she knew the details of his father's brutality, she knew there was obvious contention there and she could tell when that was the source of his anguish, even if the topic of discussion was fundamentally unrelated.

She had always thought of herself as particularly perceptive. And, while she still believed she could succeed with relative ease, her time with Father Gabriel and the slight difficulty she was having in putting together his motivations and inhibitions made her wonder just how much of her perceptiveness with Daryl was instinctive.

Beth nodded in the hopes of conveying that she understood that he had no desire to divulge the difficulties he had faced in his past. "As much as I know it would be easier to simply recoil into the funeral home, I _need_ to give my every effort towards finding my family. If you'd like, I can go through this place, insure that it is clear of any and all Walkers, and let you be."

"You would be free to stay," he pressed to interrupt her gasp of air to continue. "It isn't safe out there—"

One small, soft laugh was released from her as a sad smile overtook her face. "You're right, it isn't," she confirmed with a nod. "But I've got my job to do. I don't get to relax until I find them," she said as she tilted her chin upward. "You've brought me back to where I needed to start, and I appreciate that," she said, although she could hear the slight edge to her voice, almost as if it was pushing her to say that she wouldn't need to appreciate it, had he just allowed her to declare her intentions the previous evening on this very lawn.

"But it's safer here—"

"It most certainly is. Which is why I'm offering up a solution for you—settle comfortably back in here and allow me to go on my way. Daryl taught me enough that I feel relatively confident that I can make it on my own.

"However," she continued, as she released a deep breath. "Should you feel compelled to join me, I would be grateful for your assistance and company. Two minds are better than one and I think we could work well together in the search for the remaining members of my family. If you choose to come, I'll return the favor by preparing you for the life that will result.

"Life on the road is significantly different than the safety and security of four walls and a roof. It won't be easy," she cautioned. "But it could teach you what you need to know to survive. You need to know that last night's herd certainly won't be the last that attempts to make its way through here.

"It'll catch up to you," she said quietly, as her eyes lowered to the porch, her memory temporarily lost towards the farm. "It catches up to everyone eventually." Beth brought her expression back up to meet his eyes, a renewed confidence there.

Yes, she missed the farm dearly. But she had found a new family there, and she hadn't even realized it. The loss of the farm had somehow, in all the chaos, in all the grieving, managed to bring them all together. She wouldn't be the person she was today without the falling of the farm. It had turned out just as it was supposed to be, she believed. And so would this separation—from both Daryl and the other members of her family.

"I'll start to clear the house," she started, as he remained silent and adamantly stared at his feet. Beth thought perhaps her stare unnerved him and that some distance could do him a bit of good. "You stay here and think it over?" she offered, as she tilted her head downward and to the side, doing her best to get him to meet her eyes, if only it were for a second.

He nodded, though refused to look at her. With a smile, she turned away from him, knowing this was what they both needed.

Beth felt assured she could make her way through the house and live to tell the tale. That didn't mean she didn't feel the pressing on her nerves, though, as she eased her way through the front door.

As she turned to the right and saw what she could only refer to as Daryl's room, she realized that it was not only her survival instincts that were pressing down upon her. This had been the last place she had been with Daryl—a place that they had shared intimately. Whether she had realized it at the time or not was insignificant; she certainly knew that had been the case now. If anything, her retrospective realization only made her yearn to relive the experience even more.

She allowed herself to approach his beloved bed—otherwise known as the casket—and ran one hand over the pillow. It had smudges of dirt on it from his hair resting there; the sight made her smile and laugh a bit, as tears sprung to her eyes.

Looking over to the piano, she realized she just couldn't even approach it. There would be no desire to sing again until she found him and their family and their safety was once more relatively secured—there wasn't a doubt in her mind in that regard.

Beth shook her head and wiped away a few rogue tears that had managed to slip from her eyes. She fidgeted with her grip on her knife as she made her way through the house, room by room. Just as she had suspected, there were no Walkers evident.

Although the potential emptiness of the house had been suggested by the lack of response to her knocking earlier, she was still admittedly surprised the herd had managed to move on so quickly. Generally speaking, Walkers didn't do anything _quickly_.

She counted her blessings and turned to walk up the stairs, in the search of a duffle of some sort. If she was going to set out to find Daryl, she needed to grab a few supplies to get her through the next few days.

Fortunately, in the room she had called home, the closet had a backpack that looked promising. She made her way back downstairs and shoved some of the remaining supplies in her bag, including the soda. The ride in the backpack would undeniably jostle the liquid, to the point where they would need to exercise quite a bit of caution when opening it, but it was better than the prospect of not finding water for a few days.

Her daddy's voice appeared then, to whisper to her that soda did nothing but dehydrate you. She smiled, appreciating his warning, but knowing that she'd take this over nothing.

She made her way back towards the porch, intending to collect the strings of cans that lay slightly trampled on the ground. She found Father Gabriel there, sitting on the steps, hand resting on his chin, eyes out of focus in thought.

"Well there's your first lesson," she said, a smile small on her face as she lowered herself to sit several steps above him. He startled at her voice, apparently not even having seen her approach.

"What's that?" he asked, his face concerned.

"You weren't even watching things were you?" she asked softly, her tone not accusing, but etched with curiosity. Something was obviously troubling him. Unlike with Daryl, however, she didn't feel the push to make a stand, to demand he share with her.

She barely knew Father Gabriel. Alternatively, even though her and Daryl were barely more than acquaintances when they had first been stranded together, there was a connection—a familial bond, at the very least. She had felt deep concern when she saw him shut himself off, relapse to bad habits from the past.

In the case of Father Gabriel, she couldn't be certain as to whether this prevailing sense of guilt was merely the result of someone who had too closely and literally studied the practices of Christianity or if it was simply part of his personality. In essence, she had known Daryl well enough to know that what he was doing to himself was unjustified, nothing short of self-inflicted torture. With Father Gabriel, there was no way for her to know if this was merely…who he was.

He shook his head, looking a bit sheepish, although not overly troubled by it. Had Daryl been here, he would've ripped the man a new one for failing to be on watch, for dropping the ball, for not following through for the good of the team. It made her smile to think about it.

"You always need to be alert," she answered, as her own words refocused her priority in returning to the porch. Beth got up and gathered the cans, managing to shove them in just on top of the food supplies she had scavenged from the kitchen. "Just because it doesn't seem that there are Walkers around, doesn't mean there aren't. They may look slow—and typically they are—but you'd be surprised how quick they can get the drop on you."

"How do you know all this?" he asked, his eyes squinting to take her in; she noticed his eyes lingered on her string collection. "You're just a little girl."

She nearly grumbled at his phrasing, but bit her lip to hold it back. "I may _look _like a little girl," she started. "But I've survived a full winter out on the road. Have you?" she asked, a smile on her face. Her words may have a bit of a bite, but her smile was not anywhere near malicious; she merely sought to prove a point to him.

Where Daryl would've gotten snippy—either sarcastically or legitimately, it would've depended on the given day and his disposition—at the slight edge to her voice, she noticed Gabriel merely shook his head, admitting defeat very easily. It intrigued her, the developing list of differences between the two men she had shared this porch with.

"Is that where you learned some of this?" he asked, motioning towards the Walkers on the front yard.

"That was the start, but it certainly wasn't the end," she said as she turned to approach the car. His waving had drawn her attention to something she hadn't previously noticed.

She heard him get up and follow her over to the car, staying close to her. Good, he seemed to be learning. However, her attention was focused elsewhere, as she walked to the trunk and looked around, circling as she did so.

"What is it?" he asked, seeming to understand that something was off.

"My bag isn't here," she responded, as her eyes came up to meet his. "Last night, you pulled it off of me right around here." She took one last look around the area. "Daryl must've taken it," she whispered, unable to resist a smile at the fact.

"About that," he started, drawing her attention immediately. "I think I know where to start." Beth didn't like the permeating guilt on his expression.

"Fantastic," she started, doing her best to resist the wary feeling his face was giving her. "What is it?"

"He may have followed us."

"What do you mean?" Beth asked, taking a step or two closer to him.

"He ran after us. I couldn't see very well, what with it being night, and all. But I know that he at least started to follow us."

"How far?" she asked, barely even managing to breathe as she did so.

"I'll show you," he offered as he approached the car again.

Beth dipped her head to the side, wary of entering the car again. Sitting enclosed in the vehicle made her feel like she wasn't doing everything in her power to find him; it naturally made her feel uneasy. But, if he could at least show her how long he had seen them be followed, it could be a good start.

With a few small nods, she put away her knife and climbed into the passenger seat. They travelled in silence for several minutes until he finally indicated that he had lost sight of Daryl as the road curved.

"He had chased this far?" she asked, almost unable to believe it.

"Managed to keep up pretty decently too. I only really lost him because we curved out of the straight away."

Beth nodded her head to indicate her understanding of what he was saying. She couldn't deny that she was beyond impressed. Daryl had chased after her for quite a bit of distance. Was it possibly that he had carried on down the road, even after he had lost sight of the car?

She opened the door in the hopes that she could find something to point her in the right direction. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Father Gabriel stir, almost as if he wasn't sure if he should follow her.

"I'm just going to scan the area," she reassured through her still open passenger door. "Keep the car running, in case we need to make a quick exit," she added, as an after thought.

Circling the last stretch of the road before the curve, she saw no indication that he had separated paths from the pavement. Therefore, she felt relatively assured that he had held his course and continued to follow the car's path.

"Drive on, please" she requested as she shut the door behind her. "I think he would've followed the road as long he could." Beth nodded with reassurance, biting her lip at the thought that she could potentially find him soon, if they just kept up at it.

She did her very best not to think on the potential of a reunion as they carried on. The thought of it made her pleasantly nervous, excitedly eager, to the point of overzealous irrationality. Thinking about it made her heart hurt and wish that she could just skip forward to where she found him. The thought of not being able to find him—for whatever reason—flirted around the edges of her mind, but she was quick to shut it down, smiling as she did so.

She would find him. She would not leave him alone in this world, alone to try to find the members of their family. There was simply no other option. Beth's confidence in the matter only brightened her smile further.

"Stop," she said urgently as soon as they came to a fork in the road. Father Gabriel slammed on the brakes, coming to a stop at the very center of the crossroads. They both eased their way out of the car, alternating between looking at each option.

Beth thought frantically, attempting to decipher which way he would've gone. She took in the sight of the choices and knew instantly that there would be no way for him to be able to tell which way Father Gabriel had chosen; pavement, unlike dirt, didn't record movement.

Knowing this, she took to the surrounding treads of dirt, exploring the line of trees on either side of the road, Gabriel always in the edge of her vision. He seemed to be silently observing, and Beth was internally grateful for the tranquility he afforded her; it helped her think.

With a sigh she brought them back towards the car and brought a finger to her lips in contemplation.

"What were you looking for?" Gabriel asked, breaking his vow of silence and, in the process, Beth's thought processes. However, she wasn't distraught over the disruption; she was glad his curiosity seemed to be on their side.

"His prints."

"Would you recognize them, if you saw them?"

"Yes. There's a sizeable knick in the bottom of one of his shoes; it makes his tracks very distinct." She smiled, knowing the undercurrent to how she had drawn that conclusion.

Beth had spotted the marking in his tread in the course of their sessions and had known instinctively that it was the result of the Walkers chomping on his shoe from his fall in the search for Sophia. At the time, she had been oddly proud of herself for connecting the dots on the issue, as he had certainly never explicitly stated it for her; she had, therefore, merely managed to figure it out on her own, due entirely to their training sessions.

"That's impressive—that you'd be able to recognize it."

"Really, I just got lucky that he refuses to dispose of his shoes, even long after they've seen their better days," she said, turning to him with a smile. "And that he taught me how to track. I only wish he had had the time to teach me more now."

"What's our next step?" Gabriel asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "He didn't go into the forest?"

"No, which is strange to me. He loves the woods—it's, hands down, where he feels the most comfortable."

"Why wouldn't he go there, then?"

She sighed as she did another circle to scan for the answer to that very question. "Something must've happened," Beth responded as she saw something suspicious up ahead. As she approached, she knew right away she had found what she had been looking for.

But there were other prints present there too. Had he found some of the others? Possibly even Rick or Maggie? As far as she could tell, there were four or five different sets of tracks here, in addition to Daryl's.

"What is it?" Gabriel asked from her side.

"Something happened here," she said as she lowered herself to a squat in the hopes of finding some way to distinguish some of the other tracks. Her eyes squinted in an attempt to see as much as possible in the fading sunlight as the sun began the process of setting.

They weren't women, she suspected. The size of the prints present was a bit too big for that, she thought. She even shuffled her own feet next to several of the prints to confirm that very fact. While she was the shortest of the women at the prison, she still knew that the feet were far too big to belong to Carol, Maggie or Michonne.

"What?" he asked. She sighed again, not able to be absolutely certain. It frustrated her; Daryl could look at these tracks and probably be able to tell a story from all that they had to whisper. She, on the other hand, had some rousing suspicions, but nothing that she could confirm.

"There are other tracks here. Definitely men."

"Some other people from your family?"

"I don't know," she said, eyes still focused on the tracks. "It seems very coincidental, for him to find the very people we've been searching for at the same time the obvious choice in the road just happens to end."

"So you don't think it's them?"

"I can't be sure," she admitted. It was true; she had had weeks to observe Daryl's tracks, a luxury she definitely hadn't had for any and all other male members of her family. "But I don't think so."

"What makes you say that?"

She jumped back from the unfamiliar tracks that lead the pack to rest next to the print of Daryl's boots.

"His first set of tracks is a bit set back from the others. I think it might mean he was the last to go and that he lagged behind a bit. Might mean he didn't necessarily really want to go."

"Then why would he go?"

Why, indeed. She came to a stand, rubbing her hands along her jeans as a chill went through her; not only was the weather getting distinctly cooler, she was concerned about what had happened to Daryl. Instinctively, she just knew he didn't like this new group. But, if he didn't like them, why would he go with them?

She turned to face Father Gabriel and her eyes fell on the fork in the road. _That_ was why, she knew suddenly. The trail had abandoned him—_she_ had abandoned him, her own voice whispered to her. She shook it off, knowing that it hadn't been through any fault of her own—and someone had found him in the course of his regrouping. Facing no other option, he had gotten himself up and joined them.

The realization had a smile overtaking her face. Beth bit her lip to shutter the desire to laugh outright in joy. He had done it, she thought; he had managed to trust someone.

Perhaps it wasn't a for-life bond—his hesitation was enough to instantly set off her own alerts in regards to the group he was with—but he had settled in with other people. It confirmed for her what she essentially already knew—he had listened to her, taken what she had said to heart. This didn't surprise her in the least, but it certainly warmed her heart.

"What is it?" Gabriel asked, coming to stand next to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that his eyes were glued to her face.

"I'm just proud of him," she said with a shrug, not sure how to explain the situation, _if_ she even wanted to explain the situation. It was Daryl's business, not hers to share.

"For running off?" Gabriel asked, drawing Beth's eyes immediately, her forehead scrunching in confusion. "For joining strangers? What if something happened to him?"

His final question could've made her laugh, under different circumstances. "No one can kill a Dixon but a Dixon," she responded with a smile, knowing that was exactly what he would say.

"What's a Dixon?"

This time, she couldn't repress the urge to laugh. "That's his last name," she said. When Father Gabriel still looked confused, Beth knew a further explanation was needed on her part. "It was a thing, with him and his brother. A matter of pride, really."

"You aren't worried?"

"Of course I'm worried. I'll be worried about him, about all of them, until we find every single one. But, of all of them, I feel most assured that Daryl can more than handle himself."

"So now what?" Gabriel asked. His question prompted her to return to the tracks that led off into a field.

"We follow them."

"Right now?" Gabriel asked and she could swear she almost heard him swallow.

"Why not?" she turned to him, bright smile in place on her face.

"It's starting to get dark out. What good will we be able to do now?"

"It's _starting_ to get dark out," she emphasized. "We can get quite a bit of work done before the sun officially calls it quits for the day."

"But…what will we do for sleeping tonight?"

"More than enough light left to find a place to camp out for the evening," she responded as she looked to the sky. They had probably a solid hour left of formidable time; she could get quite a bit of tracking done in that patch of time, she thought with a widening smile.

Beth moved forward, only coming to a stop as she heard him splutter from behind her. When she turned to face him again, she saw he was alternating glances between her and the car. As if she could read his mind, she knew instantly what he was thinking.

"You can still go back, you know," she said with a smile. "It's your choice."

"It's just…I've never, that is…sleeping outdoors isn't exactly what I consider an idea of a good time."

She laughed again, although she worked actively to insure that there was no potential for him to misinterpret it as holding malicious intent. "It hadn't been mine either, at one time. Still isn't, if I'm honest with myself," she said with a shrug. "But in this world…" she trailed off as her eyes moved to the side in thought. "I just can't help but think that…if you end your day complaining about the ground underneath your back instead of being thankful that you survived another day…it's just a shame, really."

With one more look, she turned to resume walking forward, not completely certain whether he would follow her or return to the car. Several paces after she hit the grass, she heard his feet shuffling over the blades as well.

:::~:::

They followed the trail for perhaps forty-five minutes before Father Gabriel's shuffling grew progressively louder, from what Beth suspected was fatigue. She knew they needed to stop for the evening, and not just due to his obviously sluggish stride. It was getting steadily darker and the tracks were only getting increasingly difficult to find in the shadows.

"Okay," she started, evidently startling Gabriel with her words, as he released a bit of a small shriek in surprise. She smiled, but left the sound unaddressed; regardless, she felt her hand instinctually lowering to the hilt of her knife, merely as a precaution. "We're going to set up camp for the night." She spoke to him over her shoulder as she climbed a progressively steeper hill. "We want to establish a location on high ground, in the hopes of keeping an eye on things."

She waited to see if Gabriel had any questions for her on the subject, but his silence seemed to indicate that he didn't.

"We'll set up here," she said with a nod as she took in the flattest area with lots of tree coverage. She removed the bag from her shoulders and started removing the cans.

"What are those for?"

"To grant us a good night's sleep," she said with a smile, as she set to wrapping the twine around several of the trees. "Hand me that next line?" she asked. "You just wrap it around like this," she showed him. "And then they serve as an alert system. You tier it," she said, showing him how she placed the next string lower towards the ground. "Just in case something comes crawlin' along."

"Does—does that happen?" he asked. She could've sworn she literally heard him swallow again.

"It can," she said with a shrug. She knew the answer had the potential to frighten him, but she didn't want to mislead him. "You never can be too safe," she reminded him, as she patted the hilt of her knife again. "That reminds me, we'll need to get you a weapon."

"I won't use it," he assured her.

"Not until you have to," she confirmed with a nod. He seemed troubled by the confidence she had on the issue, but, yet again, it was driven out of a desire to keep his expectations realistic.

When she met his eyes, she could see that he still didn't believe her. That was perfectly acceptable by her; it was, after all, not that terribly long ago that she had been in his shoes, naively assuming the Walkers were just lying in wait for the perfect cure that would whisk away all their problems.

With a smile, she realized she was particularly well equipped to ease him into this life. She hoped she could help him as much as Daryl and Rick had helped her family.

Gabriel watched in silence as she set about the usual procedures. He followed her as she went far enough from their camp to avoid drawing unwanted attention from Walkers or humans and set up a trap, in the hopes of catching something for their breakfast. He didn't ask any questions, as she merely explained what she was doing and how the noose did all the work for them.

Once the trap was set, they made their way back to camp in the last few lingering moments of sunlight. Beth warily kept her eyes peeled, just in the case of stumbling upon Walkers or any of the other horrors the forest may have to offer.

"I'm hungry," Gabriel said as soon as they returned. Beth realized that he was perhaps less tolerant to the feeling of an empty stomach than she was; she had just grown accustomed to the occasional grumbling associated with a complaining gut.

She nodded as she dipped into her bag to remove one bottle of soda and a very limited supply of the peanut butter. Gabriel looked up at her as if he thought she must be kidding. "We have to ration," she said, with a smile and an encouraging nod. "Go ahead," she said, nodding towards the food again.

"But won't we find something in our trap tomorrow morning?" he replied, as he opened the jar. He looked puzzled for a few moments as he looked around, almost as if seeking a spoon. Beth bit her lip to keep from laughing as, with a scowl, he came to the realization that his hand would have to suffice.

"If we're lucky," she agreed, running her hands along the legs of her pants as a chill hit her. Briefly, she debated starting a fire, but thought better of it; that would place too large of a target on them out here. "But it isn't a guarantee. Food won't be for a while, I'm afraid, which is precisely why we've got to make these supplies last as long as we can."

He nodded, though he looked none too pleased about the situation.

Beth shifted to settle into a ball on the ground. She was so tired, so emotionally wrought from the last twenty-four hours, she thought even this patch of dirt could be comfortable enough to guide her towards sleep. With a deep sigh, she closed her eyes, only to have them bolt open once again with the sound of Gabriel's voice.

"Aren't you hungry?" he asked, tilting the jar of peanut butter in her direction.

She shrugged. "A little, I guess. But I've been hungrier. Goodnight, Father Gabriel."

Beth wouldn't deny that she was testing the waters with that one, throwing out the title to see how he would react. She knew there was something there—something he had convinced himself he had buried deep down so it wouldn't bother him, but which very clearly and obviously did. It seemed to touch his every action, from Beth's perception.

"It—I told you—it's just…" she heard him sigh as she resiliently held her eyes closed. If he was going to hold the title when he introduced himself to others, she rather thought that he needed to own up to it, embrace it. This almost cowardly evasion of a title he should hold dear didn't sit well with her. She pushed it, just as she had pushed Daryl at their moonshine shack—in the hopes that she could make him face some of his demons, just as she had done with Daryl.

"_Father_ Gabriel," he whispered and Beth could distinguish by the volume and projection of his voice that he had looked down towards the ground. Eyes still closed, she couldn't quite bite back a hint of a smile. To avoid his persecution and accusations, she turned on to her other side and drifted off to a fitful sleep.


	17. Surviving Part III

**Thank you all for the support on my theories! The encouragement is more than I could ever have asked for :-)**

**Shorter chapter here, but an intense one! Further notes are provided at the bottom of the chapter, in regards to a bit of text taken from the comics! Just FYI :-)**

They were awake, fed and moving before the sun was even up the next day. This did not appear to add much joy to Father Gabriel's life, Beth noted with a bit of a smile. But she wanted to get a move on.

She felt like she was close to Daryl. It was probably irrational and impossible but, regardless, it was just a instinctual feeling that she couldn't repress. It made her nearly itch to hurry along, despite the obviously fatigued state of Father Gabriel as he shuffled along with the lazy gait of a Walker behind her.

With ease she could recall how much she had disliked the acclimation period of living on the road that first winter. It had been exhausting; you just reached a point where you expected to no longer rest well and a full night's sleep became a laughable concept. With time, she found that her body merely adapted to the situation, growing accustomed to surviving on perhaps half the amount of sleep she had once required to be functional and approachable.

That was what the body did when it needed to survive—it adapted. But, with a bite of her lip, she recalled the heaven of actually living—the security she had felt in the prison and in their funeral home.

Or, she supposed she should say, Father Gabriel's funeral home.

"How did you come by it?" she asked, a sudden wave of curiosity coming over her. As she looked to him and spotted the chattering of his teeth, the way he rubbed the length of his arms, she realized he might be in need of a distraction. And possibly a sweater to go over his cassock.

"By what?"

"The funeral home," she clarified.

He sighed as the rubbing of his arms slowed a bit. Beth smiled; distraction achieved successfully. "I just found it. I had seen other places, but none like that. It was still in good shape—a bit dirty, but I cleaned it up, took care of it."

"Why did you choose that place to stay above all others?"

He was silent and she got the sense that he was hesitant to answer. Beth debated whether she should push forward or retreat to give him his space. With a smile, she just knew which was more in her nature.

"Did it have to do with the Walkers we found?" She paused, waiting for some form of a response. While none came from his lips, her eyes, which were glued on his face, did afford her some answers, as he obviously became a bit troubled. "I thought what you did was—"

"Weird? Disgusting? Violating?" he offered, a bite to his words.

Instantly Beth wondered where this reaction came from. It was quite obvious that Father Gabriel hadn't spent a majority of his time after the turn in the company of others, based on his behavior as a novice amongst all things apocalypse related. If that were the case, she didn't see who else such a reaction could come from besides the workings of his own mind.

"Is that how you believe I should react?" she asked, her tone soft as she leaned in, hoping to hear some form of a reaction.

"Isn't that how you did?" he responded, his tone still biting and his eyes still evading hers. Beth was left with the impression that he seemed to think that her previous question was the workings of a teacher patronizing a disappointing student in an effort to prompt better results in the future.

"No," she responded, tears nearly in her eyes as she remembered the care he had devoted to preserving the memory of the Walkers. "I thought it was beautiful," she added as she lowered her eyes briefly to the ground.

When she saw him finally look at her out of the corner of her eyes, she hastily moved to meet his in return. "I told Daryl," she began, swallowing roughly at recalling the conversation. "I thought it was the work of someone who could appreciate that the Walkers weren't always like this—that they were once humans, who deserved respect, even once they were finally put to rest.

"I thought it was the work of someone who could maintain their identity and their humanity, even in the face of the horrors of the world," she finished, hoping to prompt some sort of a reaction from him at her words.

It was true; combined with his ignorance and inability to even contemplate killing Walkers, both conceptions did start to paint the picture of a man similar to the one standing in front of her. But she knew it wasn't the whole picture; there were still pieces missing from his puzzle.

"Well," he began, casting his eyes down to the ground again. He almost seemed embarrassed by her praise. "I thought—I just, I thought it was the least I could do."

"After what?" she asked, intrigue riddling her body.

"I just…I made some mistakes, when things first started going bad. I had to make up for them. It was insufficient, I know," he said, looking now toward the sky. She knew he was no longer addressing her—not directly, anyway. "But I had to try."

"How long were you there for?" she asked, side-stepping the issue she really wanted to question for fear that he wasn't quite ready yet.

He looked back to her sharply, almost as if he had forgotten about her presence entirely. "I was at my first place for…well, I can't be sure. I didn't mark the days. I should've marked the days," he added the last, almost as if on a whisper. "After that, I traveled for a bit until I found the funeral home. Judging by the change of the seasons, I suspect I was there just over a year."

His mention of his first home pushed Beth forward. Had he chosen not to mention the issue again, she would've granted him some privacy on it. But, with his mentioning it for the third or fourth time, she could deny her curiosity no longer.

"And why did you leave your first place? Was it like…my home? Did others find you?"

"No…well, not precisely."

"Would you like to talk about it?" she asked, holding her breath as he paused the conversation.

He shook his head, although she rather thought his mouth disagreed with that answer, as it remained pursed. The set of his lips informed her it would only be a matter of time before he chose to open up on the issue, so she chose to drop the matter, if only for now.

Beth hoped that he could see that she did not seek to bring him discomfort. Much like Daryl, she could read insecurities plaguing Father Gabriel; they rolled off of him, clear as day to her. Beth suspected these insecurities suggested that he had evaluated himself as amongst the lowest left on Earth. While she could not deny that his kidnapping of her did him little justice, she knew instinctively that he never could've faired nine rounds in the ring of evil against the Governor.

No, she thought. He may certainly be rough around the edges, but she refused to allow him to continue his belief that he was sin itself. Given time, she would provide solace and reassurance that he was a better person than she suspected even he saw himself as. Beth could only wish he would afford her an opportunity to tell him so.

:::~:::

By the evening, he bestowed upon Beth the opportunity she had been waiting for throughout the entirety of the day.

Hours had been spent following Daryl's tracks. She was moderately surprised that he was allowing himself to be followed this easily. Whenever she thought on it, it made her smile, as she realized he must still believe there was a chance she was not only alive, but following him, tracking him; he would never leave himself this open and vulnerable to be followed otherwise.

In the course of the prints, they crisscrossed through woods and fields, always on the peripheral of what looked to be a series of railroad tracks. It intrigued her—that they seemed adamant to stay near the tracks, as the open terrain obviously insured far less protection than the deeper area of the woods would provide.

Throughout the day, she kept her mind on the possibility that they could be gaining on this group, as she noted that the tracks appeared to be getting fresher. Beth forced her focus to hold strong, as she sought to teach Father Gabriel as much about tracking and hunting as she could along the way.

It kept her busy, occupied—distracted her from not only the ache she felt at the absence of Daryl, but also from the obvious look of turmoil that was etched all over the Father's face.

At first, she felt a twinge of guilt every time she spotted it. But, by late afternoon, she began to slowly realize that, even if she had brought that expression on by her words this morning, she was obviously no longer the source; he was doing this to himself, turning events from the past over and over in his mind. She would not force him to release the information, but she didn't like seeing him this distraught over it either.

"I appreciate what you said," he started as they sat around a slowly dying fire as the sun settled into its setting. They had been silent since she had taught him how to conjure up the fire nearly an hour previously. His words almost startled her, although, she noted, with a smile, she didn't shriek, as he had the day before.

"This morning," he clarified, as she looked up and found his eyes watching her expression, which had obviously been one of confusion. "That you thought what I did was beautiful. But it wasn't," he stated, as if it was a cemented fact.

She shook her head quickly. "I disagree—"

"From your point of view, I'm sure it looks like you should," he interrupted, nodding his head slowly as his eyes wandered away from hers and clearly shifted out of focus. "You look at that and see a kind-hearted religious man's actions to preserve the nature of humanity."

She hoped it didn't show, but she was rather surprised at how well he had interpreted what she had said that very morning.

"Wasn't it?" she asked, when he remained silent for an inordinate amount of time.

He continued his slow nodding. "In a way, I suppose. That was part of it. But that certainly wasn't all of it, and it most definitely wasn't my main motivation."

"What was?" she asked, noticing that he needed far more sporadic prompting than Daryl did in similar sharing sessions.

"When it all started," he began, his voice and the sigh he released both sounding equally shaky. "I was in my church…alone. It was late at night when I first heard of everything. I got…I got scared," he stuttered, a habit that she had noticed of his. "I locked up—just to be safe.

"The next morning, they started coming. Neighbors, friends…members of my congregation…" his voice trailed off as he held that out of focus and cold stare.

"Not many at first, then more as the days went on. They wanted a safe place to stay—a sanctuary," he paused as he brought a hand up to run over his eyes, where it lingered, but only for a brief second. When he dropped his hands, his eyes were prickling with tears and his voice sounded even less stable than it had previously.

"I turned them all away. I only had so much food—I needed to be sure I could survive long enough to be rescued. I couldn't have those people in—I'd _starve_!" His words were coming with a frantic speed now and she could feel the panic rolling off of him in waves.

His words sent a chill up her spine, but she could do nothing but listen. Reactions ebbed and flowed as his words continued, but she did her best to disregard and reserve a reaction for when his words came to an end.

"I chose my life over theirs," he started again, after releasing a deep breath to calm his voice and the rate of his words. "Most of them stayed outside the church—yelling—_screaming_ for me to let them in. They never left—they didn't stop…

"Until the dead came in. Women…children…entire families," he continued. "I heard their screams of agony as they were torn apart…some of them calling out my name—damning me to hell."

His eyes suddenly met hers and she realized with a shock that she felt tears streaming down her face. "I know what I did," he said with a nod, almost as if he were approving of her crying in reaction to his story. "I know what I _deserve_.

"And, yet," he said. "I'm still here, still breathing, still alive. Why?" he paused as he tilted his head skyward once more. "_Why_?" he asked, and she knew once again she was not the one he wished to receive an answer from.

"What is it you think you deserve?" She knew, of course, what his answer was…or what he thought his answer was. But she needed to hear him say it.

"I deserve to die," he said, eyes coming back to hers and answering without hesitation.

"If you've made your choice, as you seem to think you have, you would've found the means to achieve the ends you desire," she said, several more tears squeezing out of her eyes as she refused to blink.

"What do you mean?" he asked, looking genuinely confused.

"There was a time…a long time ago, shortly after the turn. I made a choice…I thought I knew what I wanted," she paused to sigh, and gather her thoughts as she forced her eyes to return to his. "I thought that I wanted to die, to leave on my own terms, to part ways with this world before a Walker could find me and make my ending far less pleasant, far less meaningful. I didn't want to end life as a _meal_.

"I had thought that was what I wanted. Until I tried to see it through," she stated, with one small nod of her head. "I changed my mind, altered my choice. I dealt with the mistake I had made—dealt with the hurt I would've caused those I loved most in this world.

"I knew," she continued. "That they had no reason to forgive me and, by association, _I _had no right to forgive myself. But I had a job to do. I didn't get to be upset anymore—I had made my choice, chosen this world, chosen _living_. But, in order to do that, I needed to first learn how to survive.

"If you're still here, if you've been taking in any of the lessons I've been teaching you the last two days," she started with a calming sigh, her thoughts leaving her own actions to return to his. "Then you aren't as set in your decision as you may seem to think you are. You are choosing to learn to survive. It's the first step towards living."

"Don't you think I deserve to die?" he asked. Perhaps he was refusing to take in her words, but she didn't think he was. Beth rather thought he was looking for verification that he was still worthy of this life.

"I think you made some mistakes—bad decisions, bad calls. Even in the way the world used to be that wasn't unheard of—"

"If this is how _you_ define bad decisions—"

"It wasn't. Not until the world turned. When things went bad, we all had to take measures we never would've dreamt of taking previously. Was what you did wrong? Yes. It was cowardly and fueled by deep-seated fear that corrupted your mind and led you down the wrong path. But that doesn't mean you won't find your way back to the right one. You just have to keep fighting, keep struggling, conquer to live and fight another day."

"Are you saying I'm a good person?" Father Gabriel released one humorless bark of a laugh. "The girl I kidnapped? Telling me I'm a good person?"

"I don't believe I used those terms," she said, unable to resist a small, soft, reassuring smile. "But I think you have the potential to be. Yes, you did kidnap me. It wasn't what I wanted, and you had known that—you had to of, if by nothing more than my reactions and struggles that evening.

"_But you took me back_," she continued insistently as he stuttered to interrupt her. "The very next day, within a few minutes of me waking up and talking to you, you acknowledged that you had made a mistake—under good pretenses, of course, but a mistake nonetheless. You acknowledged it and followed my request to reverse it.

"You may not be a good person," she continued with a slow nod. "But you certainly aren't evil either. No," she said, her eyes falling to the ground as she recalled memories that continued to plague her. "I've met evil, seen it in action. And you certainly aren't it.

"The question becomes," she carried on, as her eyes came to his again, forcing the images of the Governor back out of her mind in the process. "Can you accept what you've done, the skeletons in your closet, and move forward from it? Or will you let it consume you and finish what you started that day—allow yourself to become that person you truly hate?"

His eyes now seemed incapable of leaving her, as he silently took her in. She began to realize he wasn't going to speak further on the issue and decided she only had one other thought she could offer him.

"It's in your control," she said. "Who you are, who you want to become. But it'll take courage, and it won't be easy. But it's more worth it than you could ever imagine," she said, tears prickling at her eyes again, as she thought back to that nearly foreign girl who sat selfishly upon her bed and demanded that her sister follow her in the stride of suicide. Subconsciously, her fingers ran over the scar that still remained on her wrist, the scar that would _always _remain with her, reminding her to cherish every minute, every breath.

_I wish I could just…change._

_You did._

With one final reassuring smile and nod, she placed herself just as she had the previous night and waited for sleep to find her. Her thoughts lingered on Daryl and the conversation she had just engaged in, as she heard the sniffling that served as evidence to Father Gabriel's now shed tears, making the concept of sleep an allusive one.

Perhaps she did, she realized. More than she could've ever previously imagined.

:::~:::

They got a bit of a later start the next day than she would've wished for. But, as she shook Father Gabriel awake and was met with the red and obviously tear-ridden state of his eyes, she just didn't have the heart to push him as much as she had the previous two mornings. So, they took their time, made the breakfast their newly established trap from the previous night had graciously brought upon them, and set off shortly after dawn.

Over the next hour or so, Beth grew steadily concerned. The prints were crossing increasingly over the course of the railroad tracks, sometimes even lingering for a bit of time, causing her to temporarily question if she was still on the right course. She always made her way back, but it was nerve-wracking to be dropped into doubt. And it was only becoming an increasingly common problem; it appeared whatever interest the men had in following the tracks was escalating.

Should they decide to follow strictly the tracks, she wasn't sure she'd be able to follow the trail. Would there even be a trail to track? The only way she had managed to maintain course up to this point was that she could always see prints resume just a few feet off the tracks in the dirt. If that stopped, she wasn't sure what she would do.

Perhaps she would just have to follow the tracks till their end, if that became the case. She did her best not to excessively worry about the potential problem and resolved to make any decisions necessary as issues arose.

Conversation was light this morning, nearly non-existent, as she suspected Father Gabriel was thinking over the contents of their conversation from the previous evening. She wished she had more words of comfort to offer him, but she wasn't certain what else she could say. In all honesty, she suspected she had said everything she could. The ball was now in his court; she knew first hand that no one but him could make his next decision.

Although, she thought with a smile, he had made it to the morning. When she had been in a similar mindset, it hadn't taken her long to make up her mind. She hoped, if she could serve as any sort of a model, this was promising in regards to his decision.

As silence carried on, she found her own thoughts wandering back to the conversation from the night before. She recalled what Father Gabriel had told her—his confession of his past deeds. It wasn't an uplifting story, there was no deny that. It showed several deep-seated faults—destructive facets of his disposition that would be anything but easy to correct.

Perhaps what concerned her the most was his blatant cowardice and sense of disloyalty. Out of some warped need for self-preservation, he had chosen his own life over those of his congregation. These were not nameless strangers—humans without a face. They were his acquaintances, his friends—people who had trusted him to help them through the impending doom.

And he had turned his back on them. It still gave her a chill to think about it. While she still trusted him to carry his weight on this expedition, it didn't necessarily mean that she felt compelled to trust him in general. After all, was what he did much different than the choice Shane had made to execute Otis—to sacrifice the life of another to preserve his own?

Situations such as this had a strained form of irony about them for her. With a few apparently arbitrary details twisted, the death of Otis was interpreted as a sacrifice of a noble man, taking responsibility for his actions. The same story could also reveal the final fatal flaw of an inherently evil and sinister man, with very few facts changed.

But there was no alternative version to this story. She was grateful that Father Gabriel hadn't attempted to twist the facts to misrepresent who had suffered in that moment, who had been the one to make a decision that wasn't in his right to call. That, at the very least, did improve her opinion, if only slightly.

She glanced towards him briefly before settling her eyes once more on the trail ahead. The sheer number of differences and distinctions between the man who stood at her side and the man she wished could be in his place were now definitive. In a sense, she saw them as inverses. In another time, in another world, in another context—say as two characters in a novel—her love of words would've prompted her to say that they were each other's foils.

On the surface, Daryl appeared to be the antagonist—roguish, rude, with a certain propensity against working with others. But, once the world had ended, and he had been separated from his brother, and left to his own devices to create his own being, he turned his back on the ways of the rogue. He became a bona fide hero—although, she suspected, if he were here, he would disagree with that notion entirely. But, she thought, with a smile, he'd be wrong if he did.

Before the turn, Daryl had had nothing. No support system, a terrible family—abusive and addictive parents and a manipulative brother. When presented with the opportunity to create his own identity, he rose above it all, with that first decision to search for Sophia till his very last breath, if it should demand it. From then, his fate had been sealed. He was the good guy, whether he liked it or not.

Father Gabriel, on the other hand, appeared to come from nothing but a positive upbringing. Authorities in the church typically had positive religious role models from their youth. It wasn't good to assume, Beth knew, but she could tell by his grammar—and, by that, she meant that he seemed to actually have a sense of how to end his _ing_ words, she thought, with a smile, as she heard Daryl's voice in her head—that he had a relatively solid upbringing. Perhaps even parents who were better educated than her father was.

There was no indication that he should have any reason to begrudge those people their safety; no insecurities or distaste against society to imbue any malicious intent. And, yet, he still had. When things got bad, and he was forced to make a choice, he chose himself over those who were important to him.

If Daryl had been in that church, he would've had every reason to seal those doors shut. At the time of the turn, no one had really given him a reason to trust anyone outside of Merle. Even before Merle failed to return from Atlanta, so she'd heard, things were naturally strained between the rest of the group and the Dixon brothers—when weren't things, though, when Merle was concerned?—but Daryl wasn't inconsolable.

He didn't play well with others, of course, but, even if he had considered enacting some malicious plan on the group, he _hadn't_, even when Merle was still around to do so. And, once Merle was gone, he only went onwards and upwards. Sure, he wasn't necessarily social. But he came through when he needed to.

Father Gabriel sacrificed his own family, friends and congregation to prolong his own cowardly means of survival. Daryl put his life in danger every single day for weeks to search for a girl he wasn't even related to him, who he hadn't even known three months prior.

Yes, the differences between the two were stark in their clarity. Beth was particularly equipped to appreciate the assistance of the man beside her, based solely on the choice she knew he had before him. But, beyond anything else, she knew that the diversity between Gabriel and Daryl only made her ever presently more eager to track down her Dixon.

**It should be noted, the bulk of Gabriel's big speech where he reveals his past is not mine. It's taken from the comics, where the character reveals the same information to Rick. I found it online and it was just too beautiful and tragic not to be included. **


	18. Living Part I

**The last chapter had the largest increase in followers yet! Just want to issue a big thank you to those of you who continue to regularly read :-)**

He had been so lost in his own thoughts, they had gotten the jump on him, surrounded him. It was the second time in two days he had a slip up—a fact he was none too happy about.

"Well, lookie here." He had gotten lucky, though, he realized. The asshole hadn't made any moves, other than getting him surrounded by his men.

Daryl forced himself to his feet, punching the obvious leader of the pack before picking up his bow and pointing it straight in the guy's face as he came back to standing.

His actions instantly had the others on edge; he could almost feel the strain rolling off of them. Good, he thought.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," the guy said, as he seemed to tell the others to back off a bit. Some of the tension may have slipped away, but they were still very much on him.

"I'm claimin' the vest," the guy from behind him, with the bow and arrows, said. Daryl immediately didn't like him, but he kept his mouth shut. "I like them wings!"

There was no way in hell this asshole was getting his vest. He knew that, but he didn't think the guy in question did. Daryl did his best to keep his mouth shut, going so far as to bite on the inside of his cheek. Beth would be patient, he reminded himself. She'd wait it out, listen to the assholes and then find a way to talk them right into the palm of her hands. She didn't know it, because she was never malicious about, but she could manipulate a conversation better than anyone he had ever met.

"Hold up," the pack leader said. Daryl's eyes had yet to leave his. The asshole started to laugh and Daryl could feel his forehead scrunch in confusion. The man's laugh wasn't necessarily evil, but there was an edge to it that convinced Daryl this man was no longer entirely with it. As his Ma would say, he was definitely a few beers short of a six-pack.

"A bow man," the man started again. "I respect that," he said with a nod. Daryl bit back a sarcastic remark. "See, a man with a riffle? Coulda been some kind of photographer, or a soccer coach—back in the day. But, a bow man's a bow man—through and through," he said with a nod, his eyes lowering to the weapon. "What ya got there? 150 pound draw weight?" he leaned in to get a closer look. Daryl felt his grip tighten just a bit. "I'll be donkey licked if that don't fire at least three hundred feet per second."

The guy paused again, and it did nothing to relax any of the bad vibes Daryl was getting from this guy. "I've been lookin' for a weapon like that. 'Course, I'd want one with a bit more ammo in it."

_Don't need much ammo if ya know how ta use it right_, he thought bitterly, but checked the urge to say it. Not only did Beth's voice in the back of his mind immediately criticize him for his mean words, he knew just from reading these guys that saying something like that wouldn't go over too well. So he decided it was safest for him to keep his mouth shut.

"Get yourself in some trouble, partner?" the guy from behind him spoke once more. Daryl bit down on his cheek again.

He did his best to ignore him and, as the leader of the pack started barking again, he realized he might not be the only one not a fan of the guy. "You pull that trigger, these boys are gonna drop you several times over. That what'chu want?" the guy paused and looked at him straight on. "Come on, fella, suicide is stupid. Why hurt yourself, when you can hurt other people?"

He stopped then and kept his eyes steady on Daryl. He almost thought this guy could be giving him the opportunity to shoot him, if he should feel so compelled. It felt like a test—to pass, you surrendered and acknowledged that hurting others was obviously the better of the two choices; you failed if you were too stupid to know better and struck out at the others, in the process sealing your own fate. That was how Daryl thought they saw it and he definitely didn't think he agreed with it.

But, in between the choice of joining them and allowing them to beat the shit out of him, he knew his choice was clear. The choice reminded him again of how Beth basically made this very same choice for herself—he remembered the scar as if she were standing before him now, a hand subconsciously rubbing over it—although he suspected their specification that we saved ourselves for the sheer purpose of killing others would've had her speaking out, even against this group of obviously intimidating pricks.

He wouldn't hurt others, he knew that for damn certain. Those days were long gone, back on the floor of her family's barn with Randall's blood. That ship had sailed, and there weren't no return trip.

"Name's Joe," the leader of the pack said after he seemed to think he had given Daryl enough time to think over his choice.

"Daryl," he said, as he hesitantly lowered his bow and took in the sight of the others directly for the first time. Almost instantly, he felt those walls slip back into place, ready to defend until he could find Beth again.

:::~:::

Daryl didn't think about Beth during the day. He refused to let himself do it, as he lagged behind the others, not even listening in on their conversations. His eyes were strictly focused on the ground, looking for any possible tracks.

He knew she was in a car, but cars ran out of gas, broke down, died. They wouldn't be able to keep going for forever. There was little to no chance of it, but he had to try. And he was looking for other prints, too, obviously. Any sign of familiar shoe prints that could tell him he was anywhere near those they had lost.

Daryl found definitively nothing, no distinguishing tracks—not really any tracks, in fact. He just kept carrying on, walking through the motions, eyes and thoughts still glued to the ground to rove over anything and everything it had to offer him.

At night, it was different. They made camp shortly before dark. As he watched the sun set, he realized she had been gone for nearly twenty-four hours now. Against his own will, she bombarded his thoughts, as he flashed back to the time they had spent together. His expression remained rigid, even with his arm draped over his head; he didn't want to give these assholes anything to hold over him.

It had been over a month, he realized with steady certainty. Previously, he had thought they had maybe been together just barely a month. But, as he released a deep breath, and saw he could see that very breath, he knew that more time than he had originally anticipated had passed since the fall of the prison. He remembered how, when they escaped, they had both been dressed in nothing more than sleeveless shirts. Now, even with his extra layers, he couldn't fight off the chill of the air.

Beth was too skinny. If she was out in this, even in that gray wool thing she had found at the cabin, she would be too cold. It worried him.

_The cabin_, he remembered, as the secrets he had shared there flashed back through his mind. He still couldn't believe he had shared that with her. No one knew that much about it. Not even Merle, and he had lived through shit of his own.

He resolved not to focus on the various haunts they had found—their shack, their cabin, their _home_—as he rolled himself over and shut his eyes, his back facing the assholes he now found himself stuck with. He still didn't hear a word of their conversation, even as he failed to fall asleep for hours after rolling over, Beth's singing voice flooding his mind and plaguing him the whole night through.

:::~:::

Long before the sun intended to come up the next morning, he got himself up and rolled out from underneath their barbed wire, bow in hand. He hadn't gotten shit for sleep, as his mind just continued to circle and go down roads that were definitely not helpful, given his circumstances.

At first he just walked, looking for any form of a distraction. Anything would do, he thought, just so long as he wasn't curled in a ball back at the camp, doing nothing but feeling sorry for himself.

With time, his stomach reminded him that life was still moving on. It demanded attention and, as soon as it got even barely bright enough for him to see and make out tracks, Daryl started following the prints of a rabbit.

He set to it silently, following the trail as well as he could in the still lingering shadows. But the time the sun had come up, not only was he bordering on starving, he had managed to track down the little asshole.

Daryl lowered himself into a crouch as he setup his shot. Just as he made his move, his reflexes put him on high alert, as a small object flew right by his eye. When his eyes met his prey, he knew immediately what had happened. The question only remained who the hell had the balls to do it.

When he turned to take in the asshole in question, he wasn't surprised in the least. "What the hell ya doin'?" Daryl spoke and realized it was the first time a word had come out of his mouth since the crossroads the previous day.

"Catchin' me some breakfast," the guy said, his expression stern and confident. It was the one who had wanted his vest. That may be all he knew of the asshole, but it was more than enough for Daryl.

"Nah," he started, walking over to his catch and scooping it up. "That's mine."

"My arrow's the one that hit first!" he said and Daryl bit back a response at how the asshole sounded like he was five and had just lost his favorite toy to the bully. "Cotton tail belongs to me."

"Been out here since before the sun came up," he bit out instead, as he eyed up the rabbit.

"Ya see, the rules of the hunt?" he started, taking a step closer to Daryl. "They don't mean jack out here. Now that rabbit you holdin' is claimed, boy." His nickname made Daryl's skin crawl. "_Claimed_, whether you like it or not. So, if I'd's you, I'd hand it over. Now. 'Fore you get to wishin' you ain't never get outta bed this mornin'."

By the look on this prick's face, he honestly didn't seem to think Daryl would fight in the least, let alone that he would actually lose. Taking one look at the twig, Daryl knew the odds were on his side.

_Doesn't matter_, her voice whispered again. He bit back the impulse to respond that it did—it_ did_ matter. But, he realized it only did if he made it. Sure, he could take this guy. Didn't mean he needed to. Really, asshole wasn't worth it. Not by a long shot.

"Ain't yours," he said, obviously angry. But he wasn't fighting, and that was all anyone could ask for now.

Knowing this was an already tense situation that could cause him to stew over at any minute, he walked past the asshole, fully intending to return to the camp, rabbit still in hand.

"You know," the guy started. His voice was like nails on a chalkboard to Daryl. He kept moving, not even looking back at him. Still, he could hear the smile in the asshole's voice already. "I'd bet…it's a _bitch_, got you all messed up."

Just like that, he stopped walking, his feet halting as if by habit. He didn't turn around though. He didn't trust himself enough to do that.

"Hmm? Am I right? Gotchu walkin' 'round here, like a dead man…just lost yourself a piece of tail." Daryl's breathing got slower, deeper, as he tried to focus. His hand started making its way to his knife. Beth's voice, he noticed, was conveniently gone now.

"Musta been a good 'en. Tell me somethin'." Daryl kept his cool on the outside, his hand just steadily approaching the hilt. He wouldn't do it unless he had had to—he knew that was what Beth would want. But if this asshole insisted on carrying on like this about her, he wouldn't have any other choice.

Even though he felt like he was on the edge, he noticed there were no physical or externally visible hints of his turmoil—no shaking or otherwise. His muscles, though, they felt like they were about to snap from the strain of the tension tugging at them.

"Was it one of the little 'ens," he asked, his voice patronizing. "'Cause they don't last too long out here," he finished with a drawl and it was the trigger that Daryl knew was coming, the one he knew he wouldn't be able to resist.

"Easy fellas," Joe suddenly appeared, as if out of nowhere to stand between the two. Daryl lowered his knife and did his best to check his temper. "Easy," he said as the asshole started to laugh. Daryl realized he had played exactly into this guy's hand, confirmed something that he hadn't meant to give up. But he didn't give two shits; he'd do it again, if this asshole insisted on talking about her like that.

"Let's just put our weapons down and see if we can't figure out what's really the problem here," Joe started as he lowered his eyes to the rabbit. "You claim it?" he asked the guy who was growing to rank second in Daryl's most hated asshole list.

_Claim it_? he thought. What the _hell_.

"Hell yeah," the guy confirmed with a nod of the head.

"Well, there ya go," Joe said, turning back to him. "That critter belongs to Len."

Len. At least the asshole who managed to rank second to the Governor now had a name.

"So let's have it," Len said.

Daryl wasn't about to hand nothing over. So far as he had seen it, he had done the work for this rabbit and Len had just followed him and stole his kill. That just wasn't how things were done when you went hunting. He turned to Joe, knowing what was supposedly expected of him, but not giving any shits about it.

"Looks like you maybe want an explanation," Joe started. Daryl was a bit curious, but, in general, he really didn't care. He had absolutely no desire to get any further ingrained in this group than he already was. They were a means to an end, in his mind.

Regardless, if he was going to be stuck travelling with them until he could find the others, he needed to get a lay of their land. He knew that, even though he really didn't want anything to do it with.

So he watched Joe as he proceeded to explain, taking in not only his words, but his expressions and movements—the way he carried himself.

"See, going at it alone? That ain't an option nowadays. Still, it is survival of the fittest," Joe stopped and pointed a finger in Daryl's face, looking as if he were about to drop the greatest idea since someone invented the damn wheel. Daryl seriously doubted that was the case. "That's a paradox, right there."

The sheer shit this guy was shoveling nearly suffocated Daryl. It rolled off of him, in his words, in his moves, in his stance, in the way he carried himself. He seemed to think he was brilliant as fuck, with his snobby declarative sentences.

"So," he started again. Daryl listened, curious to see what other gems this asshole had. "I laid out some rules of the road, to keep things from going Darwin every couple of hours. Keeps our merry band together and stress free. All we gotta do is claim. That's how you mark your territory, your prey, your bed at night. One word—_claimed_."

Daryl knew instantly that he didn't like it. It didn't take more than common sense to know when something belonged to someone. What the hell did saying it have anything to do with it?

"I ain't claimin' nothin'," he responded, without a moment's hesitation.

One look at Len told Daryl another thing he needed to know; he was damn near excited. He should've expected that. "So we'll teach him, right? The rules say we gotta teach him."

This reference to another apparent rule to their society drew in Daryl's attention again, but only because he didn't like the sound of it. His eyes went to Joe and he knew his opinion on this showy asshole would be influenced by whatever came out of his mouth next.

"Now it wouldn't be fair to punish you for violating a rule you never even knew existed," Joe said and Daryl's eyes ran to Len to read his reaction. He didn't disappoint, as he grunted in anger and ran a hand through his hair.

With a shock, Daryl realized how closely he was watching these assholes, the sheer concentration he was shelling out for these pricks.

_You know why_, Beth's voice sounded again, and he realized he did. He had always followed his instincts with people, and it had served him pretty well so far in this shithole of a world. He remembered knowing immediately that Shane's bullshit story of Otis' sacrifice was just that—bullshit.

But it wasn't that he read the person, he thought. He could read the situation and get a feel for the truth from what he knew about people in general—particularly with people he had spent a decent chunk of time with. Living in close quarters, like they tended to do now, it made it easier to predict people—what they'd say and what they'd do. From there, he could usually make a pretty decent assumption.

Was that reading someone, he wondered, as he remembered how well Beth had thrived at that task. She had read through him in an instant, from almost the second they had left the prison, even if she hadn't known him very well then, even if she did manage to know him well enough to know better than to push it for some time after the fact. Unlike her, he hadn't been able to read her well, not at first anyway.

But not now. No, now he liked to think he could.

Was this something they had in common? Wasn't he reading these assholes just like she would, if she were here? Sure, the way he may have gone about it was always different from what she had done. But wasn't it the same idea, the same concept—reading the situation and seeing what you could do with it? How you could get out of it, if you needed to?

Before her, he had never seen his ability to see through people like Shane and the Governor as a strength—an ability to be wielded to his advantage. When he had figured out the truth about Otis, he didn't even tell nobody. He had just sat on it, and waited for the other shoe to drop.

But Beth would've used that information, to approach Shane, to approach Rick, to approach her daddy and strike a compromise, to do some good. She would never manipulate, just work to improve anything, everything she could get her hands on.

He could do the same thing, he realized. It was something they had in common, something he hadn't realized till just now. It was something he could use to his advantage, too. If he could read these assholes, read the dynamic of the group, he might be able to find a way to break away unnoticed, might be able to really find a way to use them as a means to an end.

He couldn't do it like she did it—like it was little more than second nature. But, he realized, she had prodded him, taught him, improved his ability with it, as he traced her thoughts and struggled to read through the mystery that was her brain. Daryl needed to harness that—find a middle ground between her thought processes and his own sense of self.

"There ain't no rules no more," he said, his eyes still glued to Len as he did his best to read through the guy. He thought he could feel the pull to fight coming off the twig in waves.

"Oh, there are," Joe said. "You know that. That's why I didn't kill you for the crossbow."

Daryl tried to look through the words and perceive what the guy was really getting at. He could appreciate what Joe was saying—and he definitely appreciated that it meant he hadn't had to fight them all off for his own damn weapon—but he still saw a flaw in this system. They claimed to be fair, but only to hold it over you later and force you to make decisions you didn't want to make.

As Daryl got lost in his thoughts, Joe reached in and took the rabbit, prompting an instinctual "hey!" to leave his lips.

"Easy there, partner," Joe said with a soft tone, but it did nothing for Daryl, as he maintained his hold on the rabbit and looked at him questioningly. "Claimed. That's all ya gotta say," he said, as he chopped the rabbit in half, pissing Daryl off even more.

"Hey," Joe started again, as he handed Daryl what he assumed would be his piece. "Ass end is still an end." The both walked back towards camp, leaving Daryl to stare disbelievingly at the ground.

_Claimed_, he thought, with a scoff. What bullshit.

:::~:::

When they hit the tracks and kept going for longer than was usual, his mind automatically went to thinking that Beth might not be able to follow their path here. A second later, his gut churned at the thought, as his mind barked at him not to think like that.

Yeah, he thought she was alive. Yeah, he had definitely taught her to track. Yeah, he hoped that she could maybe get away and follow him. But to make the assumption that she was already on his course was a mistake.

She had made him more hopeful, not arbitrarily optimistic. He didn't want to carry these thoughts too far, in the chance that she didn't find her way to him, or that he didn't find his way to her.

Still, there the thought was, in the back of his mind. He worried about her, nearly constantly. With no desire to talk to the others, he had no means of distracting himself from it. But, he knew, beyond a shade of a doubt, that he would much rather worry over her silently than actually talk to these assholes.

Joe, on the other hand, didn't seem to feel that way, as every once in a while he'd start talking to Daryl, about seemingly insignificant things, but it never turned out to be the case.

Of all of them, he was glad it was Joe who was getting chatty. He wasn't necessarily a fan of the man, but he seemed a little less irrational than some of these other assholes.

"So what's the plan, Daryl?" Joe asked as he puffed on his cigarette.

"How so?" Daryl asked, alternating his eyes between Joe's face and the tracks. He still thought about her. Maybe he should try to leave her a sign?

"Well," Joe started again, drawing back his attention again. "Ya with us now, but ya ain't soon?"

He nodded, knowing that was how he wanted it. "Yep."

"So what's the plan?"

He didn't know the plan. He didn't have a plan, and it terrified him. He always had a plan, except right after the prison had fallen, and that was only because he felt crushed under everything that had happened. And she had picked him up, given him a plan, given him a goal. And now he had to do it for himself with the loss of the prison and her to deal with.

He knew he didn't want to stay with these pricks. But he also knew he shouldn't go at it alone out here; he hadn't been lying when he'd said those words to her and Andrea.

What he really needed was to find his family—to find Rick. But he didn't even know how to start that. There hadn't been a trail to follow in weeks. Part of him hoped that if he stayed with these assholes long enough, he'd just find someone from his family and be able to part his merry way from them.

Daryl knew he needed to be more realistic than that, though. There was no guarantee that they were alive, or that they were even still remotely in the same area as him right now.

_They have to be_, she whispered. _You know they have to be. And even if they aren't, you'll find 'em. That's just what you do_. He almost smiled as he heard her voice slip deeper into that southern twang—something he noticed only really became a problem with the more time she spent around him.

That _is_ what he does, he thought. And he'll do it for her too.

Daryl shrugged as he looked up to take in the others who were ahead of them. They weren't his family and they sure as hell weren't her. "Just…ah, lookin' for the right place, is all," he responded, not looking to give too much away.

"Ah," he started, nodding as if he thought he could almost read Daryl's thoughts. "We ain't good enough for ya?"

No, they really weren't. Things had changed for him. _He _had changed. With Rick, with his family—he had grown accustomed to something he had never had before. A support system, a family—people who cared for each other, treated each other with respect, built a life together.

"Some of you ain't exactly friendly," he said, thinking even friendly wouldn't be enough. Not to make him stay around for any sort of permanent stay. Not anymore.

"You ain't so friendly yourself," Joe said and Daryl could feel his eyes drilling into him.

His words tugged at Daryl, making him feel like he was going backwards, relapsing, reversing. He flashed back to a way of life long gone, days spent mindlessly wandering with Merle with nothing but booze and drugs to their name. No, he wasn't friendly.

_He's right_, he heard Beth whisper. It shook him, made him double check that it wasn't Merle's voice in disguise. _You can be pretty unfriendly to those you don't think deserve anything else. But the people who matter? Your family? You'd die before you'd let any harm come to them_.

Didn't work for her, he thought, biting down on the inside of his cheek. What would she do, he wondered. What would she say? It was much harder to follow her thought processes when she wasn't sitting right next to him, one eye on him at all times.

"You know you need a group out here," Joe said, drawing his attention from his thoughts yet again.

Daryl shook his head. "Maybe I don't," he responded, understanding what Beth's voice was telling him. If it was between being alone and returning to the Merle way of life, he thought it was a pretty clear decision.

"No, you do," Joe started again, his tone stubborn. "You should be with us. People don't gotta be friendly. We don't have'ta be nice. We don't have'ta be brothers in arms."

Daryl remained silent, as he took in the words Joe had to offer and watched as two of the others killed a Walker. The smile on their faces, the pure joy they seemed to get from it, reminded him of his behavior outside their moonshine shack.

_Don't you think that's beautiful?_ He could hear her asking it all over again. It made his stomach churn with guilt—all of it, but especially the way the two assholes in front of him seemed to enjoy putting that Walker down; it hadn't been so different from his behavior just a few weeks ago.

"Just gotta follow the rules," Joe's voice interrupted him again. "Ya claim. If you steal, you keel. I know that sounds a little funny, but no one laughs when somethin' goes missin'. And you don't lie," he said after taking another puff from his cigarette. "'Cause that's a slippery slope indeed."

He had to admit, he'd heard worse rules of the road. Merle hadn't been this civilized in his entire life.

"What happens if you break 'em?" he asked, out of curiosity.

"You catch a beatin', the severity of which depends on the offense and the general attitude of the day. But that don't happen much, 'cause, when men like _us_ follow rules and cooperate a little bit, the world becomes _ours_."

Daryl's thoughts wandered once again as he heard Joe whistle and announce that the beat to shit mechanic's shack would be their home for the night.

Was there an _us_? He asked himself—was he the same as these guys? He knew, at one time in his life, he and Merle would've fit in with these assholes and been thick as thieves. Not only would he have deserved this life, it would've been everything he needed—an empty life full of worthless relationships with equally worthless jackassess, a group that didn't manage to give two shits about each other.

But, he had thought earlier that Rick, Beth…all the others—they had fundamentally changed him, changed what he wanted from this world. Beth had told him that; it wasn't just some delusional lie he was feeding himself…right? She had said that he was no longer that guy who could just slip in and out of a structured society. He had found his place, and it was by Rick, not these assholes.

"Hey," Daryl called as Joe walked by him and approached their setup for the night. "There ain't no us."

"You leavin' right now?" Joe asked as he put out his cigarette. Daryl felt nothing on his expression as he stared Joe down. He was certainly a stubborn little pain in the ass. "No? Then sure seems like there's an us."

Daryl didn't respond, as he just set himself to the idea that this guy's insistence only settled him more on the idea of leaving. But, as Joe turned back to him again, Daryl knew his own persistence was about to be tested.

"You a cat person, Daryl? I am. Loved 'em since I was three years old. Vicious creatures," he said as he looked distractedly to the ground. He wished this snobby shit would just get to his fucking point. "Anyway I'll tell ya—and this is true—ain't nothing sadder than an outdoor cat thinks it's an indoor cat."

The words sent a wave of anger and panic through him. What if this asshole is right? What if Beth was wrong? What if he really is just deluding himself? What if he can't change? What if the path he chose as a kid sealed his fate?

He looked down at himself. Yeah, he could definitely admit that on the outside he fit right in with these assholes. But did that mean that Joe was right? That he was really an outdoor cat that had let his indoor friends trick him into thinking he could live that life of luxury too? What if he was just meant to survive—trudge through, killing Walkers, taking everything and giving nothing?

_You may look the part_, Beth reminded him, _but you aren't that guy_.

Was Beth wrong? No, he remembered. She was never wrong. Not in this type of situation. Not when it meant reading someone, especially when it meant reading _him_. She saw right through him, saw through his appearance to who he could really be, saw the affect his past had on his present, how it plagued him. And she helped him let it go, helped him torch their moonshine shack to put it to bed.

Joe was just looking at him—the way he dressed, the way he acted—and drawing assumptions. He didn't know nothing about Daryl, about who he really was, about the choices he had made.

No, he thought, he isn't like these guys. He may settle in for the tonight, the next night, even the one after that. But it was only temporary, until he can find somewhere else, someone else. Preferably his family. Preferably _her_.


	19. Living Part II

**To my awesome Brazilian reviewer who paid me the high compliment of declaring this story as amazing work that will only continue to get better, I am, once again, so incredibly flattered by your high praise! I hope that I can continue to deliver, especially in terms of the long awaited reunion, which is, I should note, quickly approaching, if not quite here yet. :-)**

He supposed, by way of elimination, he had _claimed_ this damn rock-hard spot on the floor. At first, when he laid down, bag of clothes behind his head as his only bedding, all he could think about was the look on Len's face as he joined all of the others in claiming anything he even dared set his eyes to.

Daryl was frustrated with these assholes and the fact that they seemed to think they could not only kick him out of any place he so much as set his eyes on, but kick his shit away as they did it.

Yes, he was frustrated with them, but he still hated himself even more. As he settled into his spot on the concrete floor, arm cast over his face just as it had been the night before, he realized that, in a few hours' time, she would be missing two whole days.

Was it really only two days? It felt like so much longer to him than that. But, then again, his present company wasn't exactly peachy-keen; maybe being with them made time drag by.

Despite looking everywhere his eyes could stand to take in while trekking throughout the day, he had yet to see any of her prints. It didn't surprise him—it was just blind hope, he knew that, was even a bit scared of it, actually. Really, she could still be in the car, he thought, driving god knows where. It made his gut clench just to think about it.

He did his best to hold his shit together. He had to, or he was sure these assholes would do it for him. With time, as he settled himself in on that hard ass concrete floor, the guilt remained prevalent, but it no longer felt as if it were suffocating him.

Just as he had started to calm himself down, Len's voice broke the silence of the mechanic's shop. "Ya gotta be kiddin' me," he started, running a hand through his hair. Daryl recognized the move and knew he needed to sit up, prepared for anything. "Christ. Give it here," he finished as he approached Daryl.

He held the asshole's stare, not having any clue what the hell he could be talking about, but refusing to back down. "You step back," he bit out.

"My half was in the bag," Len started and Daryl felt strongly compelled to punch this guy in the face on sheer principle. "Now it's gone. Now ain't nobody 'round here that's interested in no half a damn cotton tail, 'cept you," he carried on, making a good show of it, as far as Daryl was concerned. But he saw right through it. Daryl obviously knew this was a trap, that he didn't steal no damn rabbit part. That left only one alternative—Len was up to something.

Daryl's thoughts tugged on him, demanding he re-route his attention to them instead of the pissed off asshole standing in front of him, challenging him. Regrettably his thoughts informed him that, if she were here, Beth would know exactly what to say to this asshole to diffuse him. There wouldn't be one ounce of violence; it wouldn't be needed, as she'd find a way to take out the ticking time bomb before it even had a chance to blow up in their faces.

Daryl, on the other hand, just felt himself growing increasingly confrontational by the second. The words this asshole had uttered about the girl in question still churned in his mind and fueled his fire. The only thing that checked his impulse was knowing that Beth wouldn't want him to; therefore, he held his ground, knew he'd wait until Len gave him no other choice in the matter.

"Ain't that right?" Len asked, drawing his attention back.

That wasn't his final straw, but it definitely served to get him to his feet; he figured he could hold his ground better if he was physically _claiming_ it, he thought, with a barely restrained humorless laugh. Suspecting where this argument was going, what Len intended to do here, he settled for waving dismissively at the asshole. He refused to be accused of some shit he didn't even do.

"You're the only one still thinkin' 'bout that crap," Daryl said, knowing that he had given up caring about the rabbit hours ago. Obviously he was alone on that front.

"Empty your bag," Len grumbled, taking a step forward that Daryl didn't care for.

"Said step back!" he barked as he clutched the garbage bag to him.

In his temper-fused haze, he didn't see Joe swooping in until the bag was out of his hand. His gut clenched as he saw the bag that had all of his—not to mention, all of _Beth's_—remaining worldly possessions left in it; losing it was right up there with his bow.

Daryl's eyes stayed on Joe's as he waited to see what the leader of the pack would give him to work with. He hadn't done nothing wrong; if Joe couldn't see that this was just Len being a dick, then he was nothing but blind.

"Did you take his rabbit, Daryl? Tell me the truth," he spoke cautiously, as if warning Daryl against doing anything stupid.

"I didn't take nothin'," he said, nothing but confidence in his voice.

"What'll we got here," Joe started as the very thing that Daryl dreaded the most started happening. He didn't have much in there—on account of the world going to shit and all—but they were his things. And Beth's, he thought, as he remembered scooping up her bag and tossing it in there.

He breathed a sigh of relief as his clothes fell out on top of Beth's bag, shielding it from view. Daryl didn't even have the guts to go through her stuff—it was hers, after all. _When _he found her, he didn't think he'd like having to explain that he went through her shit while she was gone—he sure as hell didn't want them riffling through it.

"Come on," Joe muttered as he continued to shake the bag, since one thing seemed persistent in staying hidden. But, Daryl thought, there shouldn't be anything left in there. Literally everything he had left in this world was already dumped in a heap on the floor.

When the rabbit fell out, he wasn't surprised in the least. Pissed, yes, but surprised? Not one bit.

"Well, look at that," Joe said. His tone wasn't necessarily cruel; but it sure as hell was cold. It sent a chill up Daryl's spine just to hear it.

Daryl's eyes left the rabbit's head almost instantly, as his anger overpowered the uncomfortable affect Joe's voice seem to have on him. "You put that there, didn't ya?" he asked, pointing an accusing finger in Len's direction. "When I went out ta take a piss!"

"I ain't lyin'," Len said, his voice steady, not the slightest hint of a shake to it. But his eyes were beady and Daryl just didn't trust them. There was no doubt in his mind what had happened.

"Didn'tcha?!" He yelled, mashing his words together in his anger.

"You lied!" Len yelled in return. "We gonna teach this fool or what, Joe?"

It amazed Daryl—that Len could be so vindictive in a conflict over a rabbit from _hours_ before. This wasn't about the rabbit, he knew that; it was about principle. Daryl aggravated Len for some reason and, for that alone, he wanted these assholes to think he broke some stupid ass rule so they'd kill him.

Before, he had just thought the rules were bullshit. Sure, there was an inherent danger to the provisions Joe had set up—_you steal, you keel_. But he knew he wouldn't break the rules, so he hadn't necessarily been worried. He wouldn't go out of his way to obey them, but, equally, he wouldn't set out to go against them either.

It hadn't occurred to him that bullshit like this could happen, that these pricks could go so far as to set him up and take his responsibility out of the equation entirely. These assholes could try to kill him now, and he wouldn't have done a damn thing to deserve it. Not to mention, with so many of them, he wasn't so sure that was a story he could live to tell.

He felt himself taking steps toward Len, out of sheer demand to defend himself. But Joe intervened, stepping between them before they were too close to inflict much damage.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said. "Now, Daryl says he didn't take your half of the rabbit. So we gotta bit of a conundrum here. Either he's lyin'," he said, turning to Daryl. "Which is an actionable offense. Or…" he trailed off as he started laughing and turned back to Len. "Well, you didn't plant it on him like some pussy, punk ass eating, coward cop, did ya?" he paused, eyeing Len warily. "'Cause, while that wouldn't be specifically breaking the rules, it'd be disappointin'."

Daryl watched the two very closely again, trying his best to remind himself that if Beth could use perception as a way of power, so could he. The break Joe was cutting Len surprised Daryl; it left him with an out—if he just acknowledged he had set the situation up, they'd both be in the clear. It was a kindness, one that Daryl wasn't so sure he trusted.

Then again, if Len did lie, and Joe did believe him, he needed to figure out an exit strategy. The situation could turn ugly and fucking fast.

"It would," Len confirmed with a nod. "I didn't."

"Good," Joe said with a nod. But there was that edge to it again—that edge that did anything but comfort Daryl. "Well," Joe started again, turning in Daryl's direction, only to reverse course and punch Len in the face. "Teach him a lesson, gents. He's a lying sack of shit and I'm sick of it. Teach him all the way."

The indifference in his voice, the weight it didn't carry, shocked Daryl. Wasn't he issuing the order that Daryl thought he was? Hadn't he just ordered the others to kill Len? He may not be as warm-hearted as Beth—he never would've thought of covering up Rich Bitch, but she had, almost immediately—but even he couldn't comprehend how casually that issue was sent.

He would've continued to dwell on it, as the others approached Len and handed out the beating he could've very easily been receiving instead of the man on the floor, but Joe returned to him and demanded his attention. "I saw him do it."

A wave of fury washed through Daryl again, as he hated the idea that Joe had gone through the motions of that conversation when he could've just stopped it from the beginning, stopped it before it even started, really.

"Then why didn't ya try ta stop him?"

"He wanted to play that out," Joe said with a shrug. "I'd let him. You told the truth," he continued, pointing an index finger again. Although, this time, he seemed almost proud. It made Daryl's stomach roll; he could practically feel the acid creeping up his throat. "He lied. You understand the rules, he doesn't," he stopped to paused for a second as he picked up the rabbit's head again. "Looks like you get the head too."

:::~:::

She'd been gone two whole nights; both nights, he hadn't managed to sleep for shit. It felt like his mind had just found peace when the garage doors slid open behind him, letting in the shock of light afforded by dawn. He jolted to full alert, the presence of a sudden noise having the same affect it always did on him since the world had gone to shit.

As he worked to sit up, the fatigue just crashed down upon him. She had plagued his mind in the hours before, causing him to struggle just to keep his eyes shut, as images of her flashed before him non-stop. His guilt over the entire situation burned through his stomach and inched up his throat nearly constantly. If—_when_ he got her back, he didn't know how he could ever find a way to issue an acceptable apology.

In sleep, his mind found no peace either. Visions of the time they spent together haunted him, teasing him with reminders of the comfort and calmness he had found with her. Nightmares plagued him, showing him the worst possibilities his brain could concoct as to where she might be right now, who she might be with, and just what they might be forcing her to do.

Even when his mind was kind to him, even when it gave him dreams of a reunion, dreams of finding her again, it still caused him an considerable amount of pain, as he only wondered _when _it would happen, _if _it could happen, if he should keep his hopes up.

He knew she would want him to. So he tried his hardest to do so.

He sat up groggily, doing his best to rub the sleep and the thoughts out of his mind. Spotting the patches of dried blood on the floor behind him seemed to do the trick of distracting him, as he found himself looking around, suddenly focused on finding Len. When Daryl didn't see him, he lit a cigarette and moved to gather his things quickly, eager to catch up with the group and see if Len was on the move somewhere he had yet to search.

When he went through the doors, he got his answer. There, tossed casually over the railing of the stairs, was Len's body. He had clearly been beaten to shit—bloodied and almost not even looking like himself. He had an arrow shoved in his eye.

Daryl didn't cringe—he had seen far worse shit than this in his day—but even he had to admit that it was unnecessary. Sure, the jackass had lied, nearly gotten him killed in the process.

But that wouldn't make this justifiable, not in _her _eyes. No one would deserve to be treated like this, no matter what they had done to her, said to her.

With her voice lingering in the back of his mind, he set down his trash bag, placed his cigarette in his mouth as temporary storage, and picked up the beaten blanket to his right.

He remembered the memory he had recalled just the day before—where Beth had covered up Rich Bitch, a woman they had obviously never even met. Daryl had found the woman first and, he wouldn't deny, he hadn't felt sorry for her. She had obviously been very wealthy, bringing her essentials—like her strings of pearls and her diamond earrings—to the end of the world party.

But, by that time in their travelling together, he was already starting to figure out the puzzle that was the littlest Greene. Where he would've previously maybe even snorted and laughed a bit at her state, he knew that wasn't what she would do. So he had just sat there and took her in, not sure how to react to the situation, conflicted between his thoughts and hers.

As soon as she came around the corner and immediately set to covering her up, Daryl was intrigued, his eyes following her steadily and relatively against his will. He saw what she saw for the first time there—a woman who, as far as she knew, hadn't done anything to earn the criticism she had obviously received from scavengers that had walked this course before them. So, out of the kindness of her heart, she worked to cover up Rich Bitch, to save her from further exposure to this world.

Part of him thought about doing that to Len, as he hung on to the blanket he had in his hands. He thought that might be what Beth would encourage him to do, if she were here.

But then he remembered the words Len had said twenty-four hours previously, how he had spoke of Beth without ever saying her name, hit Daryl straight on in his softest spot, without ever really knowing that he had. Daryl remembered how Len had said she was just a piece of tail—nothing better than for screwing, Len had thought. And obviously not good enough to take care of herself out here in this world.

Len was not only wrong about her—on every account—but he had been vicious, malicious against a girl he had never even met. Rude and nasty about a girl who wasn't rude or nasty to anyone, even if they deserved it.

Rich Bitch may not have done anything to deserve the treatment at the hands of pickers. But Len…Daryl couldn't help but think he deserved this, if only a little, if only for Beth.

Without sparing another thought, Daryl cast the blanket back off to the side, resumed his hold on his supplies and moved to catch up with the others, who were now further down the tracks.

Unsurprisingly, as they weaved off the tracks for a little bit, Joe consistently lingered behind the others, obviously waiting for the time when Daryl could no longer drag his feet to fight coming into stride with them. While briefly under the cover of a forested area, Daryl found that he just couldn't fight to walk any slower for any longer; he met Joe just before they exited the woods to hit a small grassy field.

"White lightening," Joe said within moments of Daryl meeting up with him. Daryl looked to see the flask he was handing out to him. "Easiest thing to make. I'd start slow if I was you," he said, nodding for Daryl to take the flask. Beyond his better judgment, he couldn't resist, as his gut clenched again for the guilt he felt over the loss of Beth. "Your stomach's probably emptier than ya think."

He took a decent chug from the flask before handing it back to Joe. "I ain't been lit at dawn since…" he trailed off, as he tried to remember. "Before everything fell apart," he settled on.

"Fallin' apart?" Joe asked as he moved to put away the flask. "Never thought of it like that. Looks to me like things are startin' to fall _together_. Least for guys like us. Livin' like this…survivin'," he clarified. "We've been doin' this from the start, right?"

His words reminded Daryl so strongly of Beth. Hadn't she used similar terms to say the exact opposite—that you couldn't get by on just _surviving_ in this world. You needed to _live _to really make it worth it.

Daryl knew then, that that was what had really bothered him about these assholes since the start. The way they did things, with their standoffish rules and relationships with each other; it was just getting by—_surviving_. What he had with his family at the prison, what he had with _Beth_, now that was _living_—being with people you relied on, trusted to the point where you wanted nothing more than to build a life together.

And the way Joe thought of this world; it bothered Daryl more than he had expected it to. He had his fair share of guilt about getting ahead after the world had gone to shit. He'd only discussed it with Beth, but he suspected Rick knew he struggled with it too.

Sure, he had gotten his shit together, and he was now a much better person thanks to the world falling apart. But that didn't mean he needed to enjoy it—reap some sick pleasure from the benefits he had gotten from the situation, even though nearly everyone else literally couldn't make it through one day without suffering.

Sure, he thought, he'd gotten ahead. But that didn't mean he'd wish this on anyone. It had worked out for him; he made his best of it. But, if he could have his pick, the world sure as hell wouldn't be like this.

Joe, on the other hand, seemed to relish in the way of the world now. To Daryl, he hadn't only used the suffering of everyone else to get ahead, but he'd taken pride and pleasure in doing so.

In a way, Daryl realized, he wasn't so unlike the Governor—rising to power in a world full of lonely and misguided assholes. This connection only made Daryl even more wary of the dude standing next to him; the Governor had always had a way with words too, he remembered.

"Gettin' closer," one of them said as he took to the tracks again. He didn't really know names, didn't really care to, to be honest. But, whatever his name was, his words intrigued Daryl, as he swung around a sign to see what they had in mind.

Daryl marveled at the detail drawn on the map, which made it clear that every track in the area led to the same place—some supposed sanctuary.

It was bullshit, of course. Nowhere was sanctuary anymore—at least no place that was without his family. The sign, along with its reassurance that all who arrived, survived, had a chill going up his spine, worse than the one Joe could give him. It felt too much like Woodbury to him, obviously too perfect to be real—a fake Mecca for delusional apocalypse living.

_But, the tracks_, he thought. They all led to the same spot. He couldn't deny that this was good news, even if the place wasn't. If there were other signs, and Beth or Rick had seen them—hell, if _anyone_ spotted these, he knew they'd be drawn there in the search for the others, just as he was feeling right that very moment. That alone made it stink of potential as much as it did of bullshit.

His family would know this wasn't to be believed; none of them were untouched by Woodbury. But, if it meant they had the smallest chance of finding each other, he knew in a second they'd all head there.

Beth would, he was sure—_there are still good people, Daryl_. And so would Rick. He knew them both well enough to anticipate their reactions, their thoughts on something. Sure, initially, they'd think this was nothing but dangerous. But, if it meant they stood even the slightest chance of finding each other, he knew those two, at the very least, would make it there, come hell or high water. He was almost certain the others would feel the same way, but only if there were other signs to guide the way.

"Ya seen this before?" he asked just to be sure; he felt pretty assured this sign couldn't be the only one, but he needed confirmation before he could move forward on forming a plan.

"Eh, yeah," Joe started, eyeing the sign warily. "I'll tell you what it is," Joe continued, and Daryl fought the impulse to roll his eyes. Joe seemed to think he was a genius and that everyone else around him was simply below him in terms of smarts. But Daryl wasn't stupid. He could see through the sign, just as he knew Joe could too. He just didn't feel the need to shove it in the face of others like Joe apparently did.

"It's a lie. Ain't no sanctuary for all. Think they'll welcome guys like you and me with open arms?"

Daryl felt his eyes switch back and forth between the sign and Joe a few times. He could see that this place was no good news, but it sure as hell wasn't because of some thought that they'd turn him away because of what he looked like, for assumptions made on the type of man he supposedly was.

He recognized that this place was a mess just waiting to happen, just like his instincts had told him that Woodbury was bullshit the second he heard of it. His perception of Woodbury had been purely a gut feeling combined with a general mistrust of the assholes left in this world.

But _this_, he thought—this was different. Beth had told him that not everybody was a horrible person. Not everyone was a Governor. He knew that, he really did—in fact, that alone helped him decide to go towards this sanctuary, despite his bad vibes, because he knew _his _good people really could be there. It allowed him to overcome his problems with this place, which sprung now from that same gut feeling from their first encounter with Woodbury, only to be doubled by the still bitter taste left in his mouth from the damages done on the issue.

As soon as he mentally called bullshit on the sign, based purely on his instincts and his experiences with people in a world gone to shit, Daryl had assumed Joe, in his apparent showy intelligence, would make the same assumption based on similar reasoning.

But, if Joe's words were to be believed, that wasn't it at all. It wasn't that the sanctuary was bad, it was that _they _were—unacceptable to join the general public. Daryl wasn't so sure that he wasn't hiding behind those words, using them to take the focus off of how horrible other humans can be to draw attention to how horrible people like him and Joe—whatever they hell that meant—are in comparison to the others out there.

Really, Daryl thought, Joe was just trying annoyingly hard to get him to drink the Kool-Aid—to admit that he had things in common with these assholes, that he was one of them. He still wasn't sure why Joe was so damn persistent in persuading him to stay with them; but he knew he could see it, and that that gave him a bit of power in a situation where he was otherwise severely outnumbered.

Joe started moving forward and, with one last glance to the Terminus sign, Daryl followed in his steps, a game plan finally set in his mind.

Beth could manipulate a conversation—use her perception and persuasion to insure that whoever she was talking to understood what she wanted them to. Somehow, through just those two seemingly unimportant qualities, she managed to change the perception of others, so it matched her line of thinking. She used this to make sure the other person saw themselves as she did—as someone inherently good, incapable of evil; even if the other person knew that obviously wasn't the case, she made it seem as if there was simply no other option—they were _good_.

Beth could do a lot of things with a skill set like that. In a world like this one, he reckoned there were situations where it could prove to be just as handy as his skills with a bow. She could use it to manipulate, if she wanted—to twist the thoughts of others in to matching hers, their own opinions be damned.

Of course, Beth never did that; she always used this as a force of good. But, maybe, Daryl thought, he could use his own ability—that commonality that he had discovered—to read Joe to his advantage, to do a bit of twisting of his own, if he played his cards right.

"So is this where we're headed?" he asked, cringing inwardly at his use of the word _we_, when really that was the last thing he wanted to say. He knew he needed these guys at the moment—needed them to serve as a little extra protection, something to insure he made it to Terminus in one piece. After all, he'd said it before and he'd say it again—no one can make it on their own out here.

So, if these assholes just happened to be going the same way he thought the others might be headed, he'd lower himself to play along, to play their little _claiming_ game, even if he hated every second of it.

"So now you're askin'?" Joe asked, and there was almost something similar to hope in his voice. It made Daryl chomp down on the inside of his cheek to please him like that.

"That's right," he settled for saying instead, not trusting himself to go much further in terms of voicing thoughts.

"We were in a house, mindin' our own business," he started and Daryl was instantly both curious and irritated. This asshole loved the sound of his own voice, if nothing else. "And, ah, this walking piece of fecal matter was hiding in the home." _Just say __**shit**_, Daryl thought as he bit down on his cheek again to keep from grumbling. "Strangled our colleague Lou and left him to turn.

"Lou came at us. He lit out. We tracked him to these tracks, saw one of those signs and thus we got a destination in mind."

Despite the fact that admitting it nearly made his fist clench tight enough to draw blood, the story intrigued Daryl. The world was getting smaller every single day; weren't too many living people left anymore. Was it possible someone from his family had gotten into a bad situation and had to take someone out to save themselves?

The story screamed Rick to him. It was just the type of sticky situation the Sheriff always seemed to find himself in, no matter how damn hard he fought not to. And, he knew, without a shade of doubt, if Rick had been in a house when these pricks came busting in unexpected, he'd try to creep his way out. If he got caught in the process, he'd do what he had to do to live another day and find Carl. It was just in his nature.

Daryl didn't linger on the thought, because the hope it gave him almost hurt; but it was still there, holding a firm grip on the back of his mind, refusing to leave.

"Did ya see his face?" Daryl asked, biting his cheek to try to keep his tone even. He didn't want these assholes catching a whiff of the fact that he may be sympathetic to whoever the asshole was, even if it wasn't Rick or someone else from his family.

"Only Tony," Joe responded as he jerked his head towards the dude who had pointed out the sign. Daryl found that his name drifted from his mind moments after first hearing it. "That's enough for a reckoning," he added.

Daryl didn't have any words to respond with, as he struggled to hold his act of towing the line and following Joe's version of a civilized society. He knew, if he had to stay with these assholes for a while, he needed to tread lightly; he hadn't exactly been a meek mouse up to this point.

When he spotted the strawberry and a corresponding interest wash all over the jerk from earlier, he knew it was an opportunity presenting itself. Silently as he prepared himself for what he knew needed to be done, he sent an apology to Beth, wherever she might be.

While Beth had assured him that there were still good people, he knew she would agree with him in an instant that these assholes weren't it. Regardless, he understood what he had to do, what he had to say to make it seem as if he had gone native.

"Claimed," he said, hopping in front to retrieve the strawberry. He felt like he had just stabbed himself in the gut, as the burn of betrayal washed through him.

Especially as his eyes found the candy bar wrapper. He could've sworn that had always been Carl's favorite—the one he always asked Michonne to find for him out on her runs to check for the Governor. It simultaneously made the acid bile of betrayal rise to his throat all over again and tightened his chest in hope and anticipation of arriving at Terminus.

He had gone native only once before in his entire life, to turn his back on blood and remain loyal to the bond he had formed with his family at the prison. He thought, now that he knew how it felt, it wasn't something you _chose _to do. It had found him, made his decision for him. And, now that he had, now that he knew what it felt like to really live in this world that had definitely fallen apart, it was impossible to be truly loyal to anyone else.

:::~:::

It had been a day and a half since he had seen his first sign for Terminus. The signs for the supposed sanctuary had only became more frequent as they carried on; add that to the fact that these assholes supposedly said they had spotted their man the night before and Daryl's hopes should've been looking good.

But that was definitely not the case; the further they went, the less he managed to continue hoping that Rick could be ahead of him and that Beth could be following on the very tracks he had spent the whole damn day trekking.

It wasn't in his nature to be optimistic—it was a concentrated effort on his part. His frustrations with Joe's group and the cold were quickly working together to wear down his efforts.

They were pissing him off so much that he had started to lay back, looking for a way to go ahead on to Terminus without them. Their rules were driving him nuts, as was pretending that he gave two shits about how they perceived him or their rules. He wasn't sure how much longer he could take it.

That was, until he heard that voice—that voice he'd know anywhere. He knew immediately he had to get up there—catch back up to them, to help his friend, his family, his _brother_.

"Yo," he called, racing around the car that had previously blocked his view. The sight of Rick and Michonne at gunpoint nearly killed him. He glanced over to follow one of Joe's other men and caught a glimpse of Carl in the car.

Seeing them, sitting there, as if it was nothing but ordinary, as if it wasn't the most important thing to happen to him since he lost Beth—it nearly did him in. He knew now, for sure, that Beth had been right all along—they had still been alive. Against all odds, they had made it. It told him that, against all odds, she'd make it back to him too.

He couldn't believe it for a second, as he continued to look in on his family sitting right in front of him. But he knew he had to, knew he had to say something quick or a good chunk of his family would be done, before he could even really get to appreciate it, appreciate _them_.

"Hold up," he added, trying to keep his tone calm as he took in the desperation coming off of Joe. He failed miserably as he heard the cracking of his voice even in his own ears.

"You stoppin' me on eight, Daryl," he said, that edge clear in his voice again. Daryl knew he had to tread lightly here.

"Just hold up," he said again, nodding.

"This is the guy that killed Lou, so we got nothin' to talk about," one of the others said. It would appear his pretending had possibly only won over Joe in the last day and a half. But he didn't care. If he managed to swing it with Joe to let these guys go, it would all easily be worth it.

"The thing about nowadays is we got nothin' but time," Joe said, as he stood a bit straighter. Daryl didn't miss the fact that his gun was still pointed directly at Rick's temple. It made his skin crawl to look at it. "Say your peace, Daryl."

Daryl didn't even dare to look at any of the others; he knew his only shot in hell was in persuading Joe. "These people," he started, motioning to the members of his family. "Your gonna let 'em go," he stated, but his tone was soft. "These are _good _people."

"Nah," Joe started and that unpleasant version of the clenching of his gut that hadn't truly left his side since he had lost Beth managed to strike again. That edge to Joe's voice was back and it didn't bode well for Daryl's cause.

"I—I think we will disagree with you on that," Joe continued, stuttering a bit out of apparently barely contained anger. "I don't haveta speak for him," he said, pointing to Rick. "Because your friend here strangled our friend in the bathroom."

Daryl lowered his bow, glancing down in the process to meet Rick's pained expression. In those few seconds, so many things were communicated between them. It had been a long time since they had needed words to have a conversation—a fact that they were now reaping the benefits from.

On his way back up from lowering his bow, he held his hands up slightly, to indicate that he meant no harm. At one time, he might've crashed in here and started the violence. But, not anymore. Things had changed, he remembered. _He _had changed. He just hoped his added perspective from Beth helped them get out of this situation in one piece. He had faith that she would see him through it.

"You want blood, I get it," he started, hands still held out. He knew, in that moment, what she would do. It almost made him smile, as he realized following her thought process here wasn't hard at all; it was in no way dissimilar to his own gut reaction. Selfless, he thought, as he urged his hands higher and stared straight into Joe's eyes, that was what they both were—selfless and sacrificing, if only for the _right_ people.

"Take it from me," he paused, his voice still soft. Beth's voice was absent, but he knew it was exactly what she would do for him, for _them_, were she here in his place. "Come on."

The surprise on Joe's face wasn't unexpected. To Daryl, Rick was family—it's just what he did for people he cared for, especially _these _people. It didn't matter that it has probably been months since he last set eyes on any of them; in an instant, everything snapped back to the way it was before.

But Joe? He didn't think like Daryl did, no matter how much Joe tried to convince him otherwise. The man had no concept of loyalty, so why would he have ever expected Daryl to pull a move like this—a move to take their place, just to spare his family members pain. It fueled Daryl on, confirmed for him that, even if this deal went south, it was the right thing for him to do, and that it would work out in the end.

"This man killed our friend," Joe started. His voice was practically shaking in barely repressed anger at this point. "You say he's good people. See now, that—that right there is…is a lie."

As soon as the word came out of Joe's mouth, he knew what he was in for. Three of Joe's men were on him before he could even suck in a breath. He heard the order issued, heard Joe say they needed to teach him all the way, and knew that he was in for a long, torturous death, if he couldn't find his way out of it.

He thought in that moment, through the antagonizing pain of being hit alternatively between three of Joe's men, of how Len died just like this—beat to shit and degraded, not even looking like himself in the end.

He thought of how he had had the opportunity to give Len a bit of decency by covering up his body, but he had selfishly, out of some irritated sense of pride, refused to do it. He could see now, just how _wrong_ he had been in that moment, just how much better Beth was than him. Daryl had thought, that since he had refused the act of kindness out of indignant pride on her account, that it somehow made it acceptable. But, he saw now, just how incorrect he had been, and how he could quite possibly pay the highest price possible for his pride.

Daryl didn't want to go like that—beat to shit without getting to reunite with his family, with _her_. In fact, he refused to do it. He was a damn Dixon, after all. And only a Dixon can kill a Dixon.

Something happened then, shortly after he had resolved himself to finding a way to climb back out of this shell of circling assholes who were holding nothing back. Their attention focused, faces turned upward as Daryl heard something like gurgling. He looked over his shoulder and saw that Rick had taken care of their Joe problem.

Daryl refused to miss this opportunity. Just as he saw Michonne turn out of the corner of his eye, he made his own move, launching himself on his three attackers. He got his hands on a weapon as he heard one of the few remaining assholes continued to threaten Carl; he hated that he still had his own attackers to take care of—that he couldn't drop everything to go help the kid immediately.

But, just as he suspected, it wasn't really his position to take the asshole threatening Carl out; that was a job the Sheriff would want to claim completely as his own. He turned just in time to see Rick repeatedly stabbing the prick who had dared to touch his kid. Part of him cringed, knowing this couldn't be Rick—not all of him anyway.

There was an undeniable cruelty in his brother, he recalled, as he remembered doing his best to intervene before the Sheriff irrationally beat the shit out of Tyreese up on the roof of the prison; it felt like years ago, but he could still remember it, clear as day. That anger, that drive for violence wasn't in any way surprising—there was cruelty in almost everyone now. But Rick wasn't like the Governors of the world; that violence wasn't all of him.

No, he didn't strike against just any random asshole; it was against someone who had threatened Rick's most important remaining person on the earth. And, for that, Daryl couldn't hold any of it against him.

:::~:::

It had only been a few hours after the confrontation when the sun had started to rise. He left them at the car—although it pained him to—under the pretense of trying to hunt them down some breakfast.

He had no luck, but, to be honest, it was probably because his heart wasn't really in it. His thoughts were flooding him far faster than he could process them.

Daryl tried to think of what he would say, about what Rick had to do the night before, because it was just that—what he _had_ to do.

Did he need to go about it in that way? Probably not, but the intent was clear from that asshole and Rick needed to do everything in his power to make sure it didn't happen. Daryl could see it clear as day, even if he couldn't understand it—his old man would've just let him go, probably would've laughed his ass off as it happened.

The end result wasn't debatable to Daryl and, by association, he couldn't hold what Rick did against him. It didn't make Daryl trust him any less and it certainly didn't change how much he cared for his brother.

He would have no right to judge Rick, his mind whispered to him; not with the churning of guilt he felt in his gut over the issue. It worked to constantly remind him that maybe Rick wouldn't have needed to go to such hard measures, if only Daryl had taken care of the problem long before yesterday.

But, this wasn't about him. It was about Rick.

Daryl didn't judge him on his actions, but the specifics of it did stir up some concern for the wellbeing of the Sheriff. Violence was okay when it was a means to an end, but what if it became more of a habit than it was already developing into?

No, he thought, cutting that train off before it could head into dangerous territory. Just like with Carol, it wasn't really Rick acting there. It was some other hidden aspect of his personality that only came out when it was needed—nothing less, nothing more.

He knew, above all else, Rick would worry about how Daryl felt about it. A reliance had developed between them in the years since Shane had been taken out; they leaned on each other, confided in each other, counted on their counterpart for the best advice on action to move forward.

They served as each other's moral compass—a means of checking the ethics and humanity of actions before moving forward for the rest of the group. Because of that, he knew he needed to be honest and sympathetic, two things that his time with Beth had certainly helped him with.

_Beth_. Daryl had found his family—or, at least, part of it. Maybe, if they could make it to Terminus and find the others, they could really make an organized effort to find her.

But, he thought, he wanted to be the one to find her, none of the others. Maybe Maggie, if she was still with them. He wanted to be the first one she saw. It was just non-negotiable in his mind. He had dropped the ball that night and he owed her a direct apology as one of the very first things she heard—or, more likely, _saw_, pouring through his damn beneficially betraying eyes—not relayed through someone else as she pressed questions on an unwitting participant.

Daryl tried not to get to ahead of himself. He needed to take things one step at a time. If they could get in and out of Terminus, he knew they'd be able to find her. He just had to have the patience to see to it that it was done right.

With a sigh, he realized he'd been out for at least an hour with no sign of any luck. That worried him, implied that Walkers might be in the area. He settled for gathering a bottle of water at the stream for Rick's battered face and returned to camp.

As soon as he set eyes on the Sheriff resting up against the outside of the car, he knew he had made the right call in collecting the water for the explicit purpose of getting Rick looking more like his old self. Without any words, he removed his handkerchief, put some water on the material and handed it to the Sheriff.

"You should save it to drink," Rick said, barely meeting his eyes.

"Nah," he said with a shake of his head, still holding out the bit of material. "You can't see yourself. We can."

The word _we_, which had felt so horribly wrong when applied to appease Joe and his men, now sounded just right; the comfort and familiarity of the word and who it was shot at made his throat clench out of reflex. If he had still been speaking, he felt certain his voice would've caught and cracked, like some gullible and pathetic teenage asshole.

As soon as Rick took the handkerchief from him, Daryl slid to a seat right next to him, knowing it was only a matter of time until he would need to press forward. Sure, it was great to have them back; but Daryl wasn't blind—he knew they had issues to discuss. Rick settled in to cleaning himself up as Daryl wandered idly how roughed up he must look from his three on one from the night before.

Pushing the obvious attempt at seeking a distraction away, he forced himself to focus. When he did, he quickly knew where he needed to start this conversation. The guilt pressing down on him made no other introduction possible—he just needed to find a way to start.

"I didn't know what they were," he said, alternating looks between Rick and the ground. The guilt he felt for being with those guys when they found Rick—he felt responsible for what had happened, as if he had led them straight to his family himself.

Rick nodded as he continued to work on cleaning himself up. "How did you wind up with 'em?"

He had dreaded this question; knowing Rick as well as he did, he had thought this might come up, had anticipated what he would say as his answer. Briefly, he contemplated not telling him, not sharing what had happened. But, he just couldn't. He needed someone to know, if not everything, the basics at the very least, and he trusted no one as much as he trusted Rick.

"I was with Beth," he started, his eyes trained on the ground. "We got out together," he paused, still avoiding Rick's eyes. Between his guilt with bringing Joe's group to them and his responsibility in failing to protect Beth, he felt like he was just about the shittiest human left on the planet. Including the Walkers.

"I was with her for a while," he added, liking the sound of it. He could see out of the corner of his eye that Rick was a little surprised, but not so completely as to think this was beyond comprehension. Daryl had wanted it that way—wanted to make it sound like she wasn't just some burden on him. Because that hadn't been the case at all; they had relied on each other equally—a fact he suspected some of their family may find harder to believe than Rick seemed to.

Silence rolled on for a few seconds as he waited for Rick to respond. His reaction would tell him a lot of things—how he interpreted the way Daryl talked about Beth, what he took the words to mean, in terms of their relationship, how that seemed to affect what he thought about the two of them, and, as a result, how Rick felt about all of it, from top to bottom.

He had told himself that the opinion of the others wouldn't affect his feelings on the matter, and that had been true. But, if there was one person he wished could understand…whatever this was, it was the man sitting right beside him. Hands down; no doubt in his mind on the matter.

"Is she dead?" Rick asked, although Daryl could tell that he hesitated to, just a bit. It told him that Rick knew this wasn't an easy subject for him. He may not know details, Daryl thought, but Rick was definitely thinking, definitely wondering.

He brought his eyes up to meet Rick's as he finally ran out of perceptions to read from his words and was forced to face the actual question at hand. "She's just…gone," he answered, not really knowing what else to say.

"After that…that's when they found me," he looked away, struggling again with the guilt from both accounts. "I mean, I knew they were bad. But they had a code. It was simple…stupid, but it was something," he paused again, as he thought of how best to describe it. "It was enough," he settled on, knowing that that had been exactly what he had been doing—settling, surviving, not thriving or living.

Rick drew a breath and Daryl instinctively met his eyes. He was worried—worried that Rick would judge him, think that he was just like he used to be when the Sheriff had first came to town.

"And you weren't alone," Rick finished for him. A small wave of relief immediately hit him and he almost didn't know what to do with himself. But this wasn't over; Daryl wasn't in the clear, not by a long shot. He had been vindicated for being with them to begin with, but not for leading them straight to his family. It made him look away again.

"Said they were lookin' for some guy. Last night, they said they spotted 'em," he paused, knowing he had to explain this, explain himself. "I was hangin' back. I was gonna leave. But I stayed," he said, his tone blank as he thought back on it.

Part of him knew he should've left them long before last night. They did him no good; they weren't a part of the group of good people still left in this world, weren't what he needed to find his way back from surviving to living. But if he had left when he had originally planned to—or, more so, if he hadn't joined up with them at all—he may never have found Rick.

The thought had his eyes set on Rick's again. He knew, even if he had screwed up, even if things could've gotten really bad, they hadn't. In fact, they had gotten better; after one last bump in the road, he now had a chunk of his family back.

"That's when I saw it was you three. Right when you saw me," he clarified, shaking his head, as he felt ashamed again, thinking back on how he felt coming from around the car. "I didn't know what they could do," he added quietly.

"It's not on you, Daryl." Rick's words were fired off almost as soon as Daryl was done speaking. He hadn't hesitated in the slightest and, though it was small, it made him feel a little less like a bug who should be crushed under someone's shoe.

"Hey," Rick said, forcing Daryl to meet his eyes. "It's not on you. You being back with us…here, now. That's everything," Rick paused, his eyes still on Daryl's, who was reminded of another time someone's words had been so pulling he couldn't look away. It made him hurt and feel better all at the same time.

"You're my brother," Rick added, and Daryl knew that was it—that was all he needed to hear. They were done talking about him—he had gotten the forgiveness he had really needed and, now, it was time to help Rick put some of his demons at bay.

"Hey," he said, after one last pause to think about how he should go about this. "What you did last night," he started, moving to meet Rick's eyes. Beth reading him taught Daryl a thing or two about himself; he knew they gave him away, which was actually a good thing, considering how often he thought words failed him miserably. "Anybody woulda done that."

"No," Rick responded just as quickly with a shake of his head. "Not that."

Daryl shook his own in response, before turning his eyes back to Rick. "Something happened. That ain't you."

"Daryl, you saw what I did with Tyreese." That had felt like ages ago when the memory of it came to him the previous evening, but now he could nearly picture it, almost as if it were still happening right in front of him. As much as he really didn't want it to, the situation from last night had just made him think of it.

"It ain't all of it, but that's me," Rick said, bringing Daryl's focus back. "That's why I'm here now, that's why Carl is. I'm gonna keep him safe. That's all that matters."

Daryl's eyes lingered on Rick for just a second, as he tried to pull as much from the conversation as it had to offer him. It was interesting to him, the differences between them. Daryl tried to ignore his insecurities and shortcomings, to push them back in the hopes that if he didn't think about them, they would bother him less, be less evident to those who surrounded him—those he cared about.

Rick, on the other hand, sat here in front of him facing these things head-on. Daryl envied him, really, to have the courage to face those issues—acknowledge that you don't like them, but that they're part of who you are and there's only so much you can do with it.

It reminded him of Beth, who openly acknowledged that she wasn't seen as the strongest in their family. And she did what she could with it—took care of Little Ass Kicker and asked him to train her. But she always knew that she wasn't going to be a seamless fighter like Michonne. It just wasn't in her cards, and she was okay with that. She could use her strengths in other regards, he knew. And she knew it too.

It impressed him really. He threw his weight around, threw himself into every fight as passionately as he could, just to try to forget about anything and everything—every little whisper Merle's voice had to throw at him.

His plan didn't work most days. He knew, whatever Beth and Rick might see in him, he was a lot less brave than they were. Daryl was no coward, but he sure as hell wasn't no hero either.

But he could try to be better. _For them_.


	20. Living Part III

**The responses to that last chapter were breath taking! So many of you continue to issue such incredibly high compliments on my writing that I am just rendered speechless! Several of you acknowledged that you are grateful that I continue to update and provide detailed internal monologue and thought provoking insights. I, in turn, must say that I am beyond grateful for the amazing feedback and encouragement you have all provided for me. I hope I continue to live up to the great expectations! **

**In regards to this chapter, really, it was designed for the sheer purpose of me seeking a cathartic release of some baggage I was carrying around about how certain things and characters handled the separation in season four. Hopefully the readers find this as cathartically beneficial as I did :-)**

While a chase through unfamiliar territory was never Daryl's idea of a good time, this one had him particularly worried. For starters, why the hell weren't they shooting to kill? It made him feel like he was just a piece of cattle, being herded out to pasture. He didn't know where this trail would end, with its A's springing up all over the place, but Daryl had anything but a good feeling about it.

If he were honest, he hadn't gotten any good vibes from these assholes from the second they wandered their own way in here. It had been too easy, he thought. They should have a perimeter. Sure, the one mentioned that someone lazy must be on duty. But you didn't get lazy and have an established place like this. Not in this world.

He hadn't liked setting his bow down on the ground and being patted down much either. As soon as they were done, he'd reached down and got his own damn weapon, not in any mood to wait to have some asshole hand it to him like he was a guest in a five-star hotel.

And now he saw why he had hadn't liked it much here, as they continued to weave through the grounds, going through doors that were conveniently left open right next to ones that were locked. It stunk of a trap, but what else could they do?

They came out of the creepy room with the candles and found themselves on a yard with a train car just a few feet away. They were surrounded—Daryl could just feel it. Not to mention, the guard on the fence was now out in full force.

"Drop your weapons, now," the head guy—Gareth?—called from his elevated position near by. Daryl held back a grumble. He'd be damned without his bow; there were times he debated sleeping with it tucked in to bed with him, he was so reliant on it.

"Now," Gareth added, more insistently this time.

His temper flashed as he threw an arrow to the ground angrily. The bow followed a moment later, as did his knife and the weapons of the others.

"Ringleader," Gareth called, and Daryl's eyes instinctively went to Rick. "Go to your left—the train car." With a barely suppressed groan, Daryl spotted the A painted on the side. "Go," he stopped again, as Rick's eyes went immediately to Carl. "You do what we say, the boy goes with. Anything else, he dies, and you go anyway."

Daryl bit down on the inside of his mouth, cursing himself for letting them get into this situation. Now Rick was forced to consider being parted from the only blood he could have left in this world.

Rick didn't look none too happy about it, but he gave Carl one nod before he started making his way toward the train car.

"Now the archer," Gareth called. _Can't be no damn archer without a fucking bow_, he thought, as he looked longingly toward his weapon. With one last glare, he started to make his way to follow Rick.

"Now the Samurai," he said and, if it were possible, Daryl thought Michonne might look even angrier than he felt. "Stand at the door! Ringleader, Archer, Samurai—in that order."

He fell in line, but he knew Rick was a ticking time bomb; he wouldn't be too pleased until he had his son standing behind him. Every single one of them cared for Carl, considered him to be family; all eyes fell to the kid.

"My son!" Rick yelled, his voice raspy and clearly angry.

While they waited for a response, Daryl watched Carl's eyes fall to the ground. It was torture to think that they had come this far and one asshole could just separate them all over again.

"Go, kid," Gareth responded and they all seemed to release a collective breath. "Ringleader, open the door and go in.

"I'll go in with him," Rick insisted, eyes never leaving Carl.

"Don't make us kill him now!"

The cavalier attitude was killing Daryl. He bit down on his cheek again and turned his eyes forward towards their train car.

Rick moved to open the door, drawing Daryl's attention again. He was on high alert, not sure what to expect to come out of the space. When nothing did, he lowered his eyes to the stairs and noticed an empty bag of powered milk plastered to the ground. It seemed strange and automatically reminded him of Little Ass Kicker—he had picked up the same stuff countless times for her on runs.

His eyes drew sharply to the door again, as Rick started to make his way in just as Carl fell into line. As soon as they had all made it, they slid the door shut and Carl and Rick immediately went to each other.

Daryl did his best to keep his breathing regular. He couldn't panic; he needed to come up with a plan and fast. They couldn't find Beth if they were in just as shitty of a position as she may be in right now.

"Rick?" a voice called and Daryl felt a chill go down his spine, but one that was so different from the reaction Joe's could bring him, or even Merle's, for that matter. He didn't want to believe it, but he knew beyond a shade of doubt that he'd know that voice anywhere.

And then he was there, right in front of him. Glenn, that sneaky Korean. He was a sight for sore eyes and Daryl instantly felt his smirk domineer over his face.

Maggie joined him next, standing beside him and coming out of the shadows. And then a few others—Bob and Sasha, as Rick asked "you're here?" He paused as he took in the sight of them. "You're here," he stated and Daryl smiled because—damn it—shehad been _right_. Even more right than he could've possibly ever given her credit for. There were so many of them here, so many of them alive. It was beyond anything he could've ever hoped for.

But, not her. No, he knew, if she were here, she'd give him that sweet knowing smile before running to embrace her sister. It made him smile deeper just to think about it.

"They're our friends," Maggie clarified, pointed to the couple of people in the back that Daryl didn't recognize. "They helped save us."

"Hey," he stared, with a nod. He couldn't take his eyes off Maggie. Beth's sister was alive. She would be elated, as soon as they found her. "Now they're friends of ours."

"For however long that'll be," the army looking guy said as he looked warily towards the door.

"No," Rick said, releasing Carl and approaching the door of the train car. Daryl didn't even need him to speak—he could feel what was coming, almost as if Rick and Daryl were sharing one mind.

"They're gonna feel pretty stupid when they find out."

"Find out what?"

Daryl felt his smile widen a bit, as Rick turned to the others, face straight as could be.

"They're screwin' with the wrong people."

:::~:::

They all sat, basking in their thoughts for quite a bit of time. Rick's confidence was inspiring—it always was, that was exactly why he was the leader and Daryl wasn't—but after that washed away, they realized they needed a solid plan if they intended to get out of here without suffering major causalities.

Daryl, in his position with his back against the far wall of the car and his arms resting casually on his pulled up knees, had focused on forming some sort of a plan for the first solid chunk of time. With only the strip of light from the very small crack in the car doors, it was hard to tell how much time had passed since they had entered the car.

They had arrived at Terminus even faster than he had thought. Counting back on the nights, he figured out that this was now the fifth day she had been missing. Being stuck in here, without any form of a plan to escape as of yet, was making him jumpy.

If she had followed his tracks—which he had previously hoped for so much—she could now be dropped in to trouble once again when she met the end of them. Daryl was desperate to get out of here before she could stumble on this place; he didn't want her anywhere near it.

He sat there twitching, doing his best not to focus on just how long it had been since he had seen her. Five days wasn't a long time, he thought, but after so much one-on-one time, spending literally almost every minute of every day with her, it had just become natural to have her there, by his side. And, now that she was gone, he was missing it…missing her.

Damn, he thought. She had been right. He did miss her now that she was gone. But she wasn't gone forever—he would see to that if it took his dying breath.

As the light began to fade and they continued to struggle to form a plan, they sought distraction in trading stories of the courses taken to meet here, at this very spot. Rick and Michonne started, talking about the house they had all met up at, the same place Rick and Carl had hid in for an unclear amount of time while Rick healed up from the generous amount of injuries he had gotten from his fight with the Governor.

Daryl hadn't forgotten that Rick had been on the front line of the battle. In fact, if anything, he had done his best to _try_ to forget about it. Before Beth had changed his thinking, he had seriously thought there was little chance that Rick wasn't dead. He had been too close to the front line, too close to the Governor. It had impressed him that Rick had made it out, but it didn't necessarily surprise him. Their Sheriff was one tough son of a bitch.

Michonne had caught up with him some time after that and the three of them travelled together, briefly coming into contact with Joe's group and doing just enough damage to earn their attention. Daryl felt his cheeks warming again as he thought back on his responsibility for that whole mess.

They stopped at the run in with Joe and his group, but seemingly forgot to mention that that was how Daryl had found them. Daryl offered one nod of appreciation to Rick, knowing that it was a sign of loyalty—a sign that he trusted Daryl to do whatever he thought was best in presenting how that went down. Sometimes, the sheer reliance and dependence they had developed for each other still surprised him.

Maggie and Glenn pieced together a story for them next, in which they each struggled and stepped on every one else involved to get to each other.

Glenn started, saying that he had fell in with Tara, Abraham and Eugene and Rosita. Apparently the straight face with the mullet knew what had caused the world to go to shit, but, conveniently enough, he wasn't in a mood to share. Regardless of the obvious merits of getting Eugene to someone important, per Abraham's request—that is, if he was telling the truth. Daryl wasn't so sure—Glenn had stubbornly held on to his mission to find Maggie.

This made sense to Daryl. Glenn had no family left in this world except for the Greene's. Of course his top priority was Maggie.

But, when it came time for Maggie's side of this tale, Daryl found his temper growing progressively further out of control.

No mention was made of Beth. She said she had gotten out with Sasha and Bob, and that they had found the tracks and the signs for Terminus. She knew as soon as she saw it that that was where Glenn would go. She knew that he had gotten out on the bus—that she had specifically put him there in the hopes that it would guarantee his wellbeing. And, when she found it infested with Walkers, but with no sign of Glenn, she knew he had obviously made it out.

"I didn't know you went for the bus," Glenn interrupted, causing Maggie to stir from her story. Daryl's curiosity was definitely in this, as, according to Beth, she believed her sister should think she was on that same damn bus.

"We found it, but there wasn't much left. A bus full of mostly Woodbury people turned to Walkers. I went through every single one to make sure you weren't on there."

Glenn smiled, but Daryl knew him well enough to know there was something missing there. "I wasn't on the bus," he said with an apologetic shrug. "I got back off to find you after you put me there."

At first, Maggie seemed to get angry, as she slapped his shoulder and criticized him for not listening to her in the first place. But, all too quickly, her expression turned as Glenn reminded her that, if he had stayed on there like she had told him to, he could be dead now.

Maggie's smile increased as she turned back to continue her story. With every brightening of that damn smile, Daryl felt his scowl deepen. He listened as she detailed the dozens of messages she left in Walker blood along the tracks, ordering Glenn—and Glenn _only_—to go to Terminus.

Eventually Glenn had found one of the signs. Daryl wasn't surprised, as it sounded like Maggie sure made a pretty fucking extreme effort to make sure he did so.

When they wrapped it up with the happy reunion in the Walker infested dark tunnel and the resulting discussion the group had engaged in to decide what their next step would be, Daryl, after shortly restraining his gag reflex, bit back a snarky comment. However, once Sasha said that it was her desire to check Terminus for her brother that persuaded Abraham and the others to give it a shot, Daryl just couldn't hold back anymore.

"Ya gonna bother askin' 'bout Beth?" he asked, his eyes glued to his hands, wishing he had a cigarette in them currently. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Maggie's searching for his, disbelief written all over them.

"You seen her?" she asked, and he could tell by the strained quality of her voice that she wasn't breathing.

He forced himself to meet her eyes, even though he didn't think she really deserved that sign of respect. Daryl didn't trust his voice, so he settled for just nodding his head once in response.

"Where is she?" Maggie still wasn't breathing. Good, 'bout damn time she got concerned.

"Oh, so now you're worried 'bout her?" he said, biting the inside of his cheek. He temporarily felt another wave of guilt, as he started to question whether Beth would make this same stand if she were here. But part of him didn't care—Beth was kind-hearted, to the point where she didn't always say things that needed to be said. _When_ he found her, he'd try to get her more comfortable in her own skin with things like that.

There was more to it than that, though, as he knew he had failed Beth in this regard before as well, in a way that was not so dissimilar from Maggie. But it wasn't the same, he reassured himself; not really—he may have lost her, but he had never given up faith on her. He knew she was out there, somewhere, waiting to find him.

While it didn't make him innocent, it sure as hell gave him at least a little bit of a right to tear Maggie a new one for not doing the same thing for her own fucking sister.

Maggie gasped, shocked by his words. She stood and started to stutter out a response, but Daryl wasn't finished. He drew himself to stand on his own feet and stepped forward a bit, ready to battle it out with the far more reckless of the Greenes.

"While you were busy tryin' to find yer way back to yer boy toy and steppin' on everyone from here ta hell ta do it, your sister was poundin' away—gatherin' berries and shit ta feed the little 'ens as soon as we found 'em! From the second we set foot off'fa prison yard, she went ta lookin' for every single other person, includin' _you_.

"As if her lookin' wasn't enough," he continued, fully in Maggie's inflamed and obviously angry face now. "She got my ass in gear every single fuckin' day, made me look for all y'all, even when I thought there wasn't a shot in hell any'o'a was still alive! I told her straight to her face that she wasn't ever gonna see you again! You know what she did?"

He paused, giving her the opportunity to answer, even though he knew she wouldn't. Expectedly, she continued to silently stew, her arms crossed over her chest.

"She told me ta get my shit together or we'd never find ya. That very day, _she_ asked help with changin', ask to be taught to track so she could help me find everyone—especially Lil' Ass Kicker and her _own fucking sister_!"

"Stop!" Rick had called, just as Maggie gasped to respond. Damn, Daryl thought. He wanted to hear what she had to say for herself.

But when the door slid open and Gareth appeared, Daryl's thoughts were wiped clean—albeit only temporarily.

"Yes, please do stop," he said, a gun casually pointed down towards the steps. "You're giving me a headache."

Rick looked eager, Daryl realized, but he stayed silent.

"How long are you going to keep us in here?" Glenn asked from his spot next to his wife.

"We're not ready for you yet," Gareth answered with a shrug as two or three others came to stand behind him, back on the ground. "But you keep up the screaming and we might just move you up the menu."

With that, Gareth slid the door shut and Maggie gasp to pick things up right where they left off.

"Wait," Rick whispered as he held a finger to his lips. The smile on Rick's face told Daryl everything he needed to know; in an instant, he knew the plan, and he _liked_ the plan.

"I don't wanna—"

Rick interrupted her with a shush as he leaned in to talk to her quietly. "I know you want to argue and, by all means, you have my permission to. _Just not yet_," he said as he looked to the door.

They resumed their seated positions as they sorted out a plan. In the end it was really disorganized and relied far too strongly on fate being on their side to win Daryl's full favor. But, to kickstart things, he was encouraged to not only argue with Maggie, but to do it as loudly as he could.

That was something he could get behind. And, from the looks of it, that was one of the selling points for her as well.

Once everything was as sorted as was possible in haphazard plans such as this, they all claimed their places, ready to spring into action when the time came. Maggie started, not even needing a reminding of where they had left off.

"There was no way for me to know if Beth had gotten out!" she yelled, flailing her hands and her eyes wide in anger. "Last I knew, Glenn was on the bus and, when I didn't find him there, I knew he had to still be out there!"

Daryl shook his head, even before she was done. "She told me ya put her on that same damn bus! That's bullshit!"

"Beth had fought me on that—

"Still, Glenn obviously wasn't on the bus, and that didn't stop ya!"

"What do you know, Dixon—"

"It don't matter if she was on the fucking bus!" he called, throwing his hands up in the air. "Ya still shoulda been lookin' for her! You just assumed she was too fucking stupid or weak to make it.

"You know," he started, interrupted Maggie again with an accompanying humorless laugh. "I seem ta remember ya givin' Merle a hard time about how shitty a guy he was. Say what you want about Merle," he said, invading Maggie's personal space to get in her face. "But he never woulda pulled the shit you did there. Even _he _never woulda stopped lookin' for me."

There was silence for a moment, as Maggie let out a tear. There was still anger there, though, he noticed; she still thought she wasn't completely in the wrong.

Another laugh escaped him at that. He casually observed that the assholes hadn't come in yet. Good, he had one final thing he needed to get off his chest; he thought yelling would do the trick too.

"It's funny," he started quietly, knowing that wouldn't be the case in a minute or two. "All she ever had was faith in ya," he paused and took a deeper breath, preparing to up his volume with the next bit. "Faith in all y'all! She had faith in every single person in this fuckin' train car.

"Beth was out there, lookin' for everyone—whether they were blood or not. She coulda just went lookin' for you and Glenn. But instead she made it her goal to get us all, not only back together, but happy—_living_, not survivin'. Selfless, she was. And selfish, _you_ were," he spit out, his tone still raised. "Thinkin' of nothing but your own damn happiness, which didn't even include your _own fucking sister_!"

That finally did it, he noticed as the door started to slide open. Despite the fact that he was not posted the closest to the door, he was the first to hit the pavement, narrowly avoiding a bullet as it flew his way. As he tackled one of Gareth's flunkies, Rick took down the man himself.

The others all set to their jobs—Maggie, Sasha, Bob, Glenn and Abraham all working to tackle the offenders to the ground, as Eugene and Rosita made their way towards other train cars to let others out.

Daryl was the first to get the gun out of his man's hand, mere seconds after the door had been opened. He killed the man at hand, then turned to the snipers on the roof to clear a path for Eugene and Rosita. He was relieved to find that the herding they had seen earlier wasn't a complete exaggeration—none of them seemed intensely skilled at shooting.

Chaos broke out around them as more Terminus people made their way over to take control of the situation. But it had taken them too long to climb back over the fences and make their way from the welcome center where the tracks met. In the time they lost, Eugene and Rosita had opened the two nearest train cars and people spilled out, creating an all-out war zone.

Daryl took it one person at a time, quickly turning to take out Gareth next, who was putting up a pretty decent fight against Rick. In one second, the safety of his brother was secured. For the moment being, anyway.

After that, they both set to eliminating the initial group that had been brought to break up their fight in the train car. By the time Terminus reinforcements had arrived, there were other people from other train cars joining the fray, lessening the weight on them.

Just when Daryl started to notice the crowd of people hailing from train cars thinning out, another influx of Termites backups made their way through. Fortunately, just in time, another wave of civilians came through the last door they had left before being forced in to train car A. At the front of the group were Eugene and Rosita, eagerly pointing to the fight that was still going on, while leaning against the wall of a boxcar to catch their breath.

Daryl looked up and met Rick's eyes as the second wave of Calvary hit them. Neither one could resist a smile as they continued to fight their way back towards the building.

Daryl was decent with a gun. But what he really wanted was his bow back. With one look to Rick, he gasped to tell him he thought he could do more good if he found their armory.

"Go," Rick said, before he could even utter a syllable. "Knew you'd want to get that thing back in your sights as soon as ya could."

"I'll make sure to get ya your Sheriff's handgun," he said with a dismissive snort.

"I'd appreciate it. Hurry back," he said, before turning to shove the flat of Gareth's automatic gun into the head of another Termite.

Daryl wove through Terminus, but it didn't take him too long to find the armory. He remembered that Gareth specifically mentioned that they didn't have anything to hide in that first room they had seen. As far as Daryl was concerned, that was usually the first sign that just the opposite was exactly the case.

Once he returned to the broadcasting center, he weaved through a few back rooms before he found exactly what he was looking for.

There were countless weapons here—enough to have kept them in pristine shape against the Governor, he noted with a grumble, as they had suffered such a deficit when it had really counted. He found a duffle bag and threw in as many knives as he could fit—they'd need to double and triple check every body they dropped tonight to make sure they'd have no problems on their hands later.

As if he saved the best for last, he found his bow, with Rick's gun and Michonne's katana lying right next to it, and gathered them before returning to the fray.

As soon as he returned, he noticed that fighting had calmed down a bit. The tide, which had been ebbing their way when he left in search of the armory, had now definitely turned to their side, as more people from the train cars held their ground and progressively worked together to take out the Termites.

After getting the Sheriff his gun and the Samurai her sword, Daryl set to shooting arrows until he ran out, only to collect them and start from the beginning.

Towards the end, the Walkers banging on the fences behind them were growing to be a bigger concern than the Termites. He and Rick finished the job, taking out the last two or three Terminus people before everyone finally breathed a sigh of relief. Despite the cooling temperatures as the sun started to set, he felt hot and sticky with blood.

Instantly, he hated what they had needed to do to survive, but he knew it was what had to be done—to get him and their family safely out of this newest circle of hell.

They all regrouped as everyone tried to figure out what to do. Daryl, spotting something suspicious, wandered to a nearby fenced off area. As soon as his eyes took in what was there and processed it, he called out for Rick, who made his way over immediately.

"What—" he had started to ask, but cut himself off as he saw what the fence held. "Human?" he asked.

Daryl said nothing. He couldn't trust himself to; because, in all his experience with hunting, he knew instantaneously that this course had never been on his menu. He settled for nodding in return, not sure what else to do or say about it.

They stood there in silence, taking in the bodies that were picked clean to the bone. In time, they drew a crowd, as some of their family gathered around them. Daryl heard Abraham curse and Eugene threw up. Maggie gasped and turned into Glenn's shoulder in horror.

"Musta been why they weren't in no hurry to get rid'a us," he said, finally finding his words. "We should leave," he finished.

"I agree," a voice called from behind him. He thought he knew who it was, thought he could place it, but there was no possible way. She had been gone, long put out to pasture by Rick.

As he turned, he thought back on a conversation he had had with Beth, where she had given him the choice between saving Merle and Carol. He had said he wouldn't choose either one of them, not since Carol had decided to kill two of their own—that just wasn't something you did, not by his books.

He remembered that conversation clear as day, as if it had happened yesterday, even though it had easily been weeks—maybe even _months_—since that had happened. He said Carol had changed, that where Merle had improved at the end, she had gone the opposite way.

As he remembered it, and he took in the sight of her standing in front of them, he couldn't deny that seeing Little Ass Kicker strapped across her chest was, by far, the best part of the picture. Next to him, he heard a sob rip from Rick's chest as he knees gave out a bit when he tried to walk forward. Rick and Carl, both still sweaty and bloodied from the fight against the Termites, raced to get to her.

The sheer joy on their faces had that positive clenching feeling gripping his gut again, for the first time since he had lost Beth. He couldn't put a name to it, but he had missed it.

Even then, it wasn't quite the same. He was incredibly happy for Rick that his Little Ass Kicker had found her way back to him, but seeing the reunion brought to his attention the opportunity this freedom now pressed upon him; Daryl could feel it in his bones—he needed to go and find his own Little Ass Kicker.

"Let's move," he said, as he gripped his bow tighter. Daryl was suddenly fueled by impatience, a drive to get the search started. "We could stay here for the night—" he started.

"Place don't feel right," Abraham finished for him and Daryl couldn't help but nod in agreement. That was for damn certain, he thought, as he cast one more look to the bones behind him.

"Where do we go?" Glenn asked, his arm around Maggie's shoulders.

"D.C.," the army guy answered, as if it was obvious.

"Why the hell would we do that?" Daryl asked, before he even really thought about it.

"Eugene here," he started, pointing to the mullet man. "He knows why the world went to hell, like I said earlier. He was on the horn with some people from D.C. but, few weeks ago, they just stopped answering."

"Then why would we rush off to a graveyard?" he asked, biting the inside of his cheek.

Daryl had remembered, of course, that Army dude Abraham had his mission. But, with this new piece of information brought to light—that there may not be anyone waiting for them after over eight hundred miles of dangerous travelling conditions—he couldn't help but think this was utter bullshit. Especially since he still didn't think mullet man had the slightest fucking clue about what was really going on.

"Because he can save the whole damn world, that's why!" Army dude shouted at him, taking a step closer. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Rick looking warily around at the others from the train cars. He didn't want to draw any unnecessary attention.

"We ain't goin' to D.C.," he grumbled, his voice low but tight. Like Rick, he didn't have no desire to take any of these others with them, wherever they ended up going.

"Why the hell not?!"

"We gotta go find Beth, that's why," he said, his eyes really meeting Maggie's for the first time since their fight to open the car door. "She looked weeks for y'all. Least ya can do is return the favor when she needs it."

"What happened to her?" Maggie asked, her expression concerned as her head stirred from Glenn's shoulder, almost as if she hadn't realized before now that, despite the fact that Daryl had talked about her, she wasn't with him no more. It made him want to grumble in anger all over again; he bit down even harder on his cheek to keep the sound from coming out.

"She was with me, but she got taken," he started, his eyes glued on Maggie. Despite the anger he felt towards the oldest Greene, he couldn't help but feel the guilt pouring out all over him. "She's just…gone," he said, his eyes lowering to the ground. "But," he started again, trying to not show how much it bothered him. "I taught her to track 'fore they took her, so I think she mighta been able to find her way back."

"If she managed to get away," Maggie's tone was low and dark, just as his had been moments before.

Was she angry at him for losing Beth? Part of him completely understood—for fuck's sake he hadn't let himself off the hook for this for one second since she had been taken—but, on the other hand, he couldn't help but think it was awful damn hypocritical of her to start lecturing him on watching after her now.

"That's mighty fine of you," he growled, stepping closer. "Gettin' on my case for not keepin' after her when you sure as hell ain't done shit."

"Enough," Rick said as he stepped between them, his tone clean and calm. "There's been mistakes on both sides. Now's not the time to argue it out. That won't help us get her back."

"We ain't going after her!" Abraham called and Daryl almost turned to punch him in the face—woulda too if Rick hadn't been in the way.

"Abraham!" the little chick said at his side.

"We already put off the trip to D.C. to come here. Fat lotta good that did us! Our mission is more important," he said and Daryl bit down so hard he drew blood into his mouth. "You have to see that," Abraham turned specifically to him.

No, Daryl thought, he really didn't. But he kept quiet, as he heard Rick gasp to speak.

"Beth is a very important part of our family," Rick started. Daryl almost scoffed—sure she had always been important to Rick as his babysitter, but he wasn't so sure many of the others gave two shits about her.

He understood completely why she had such fears of being useless and not contributing. It wasn't for lack of trying, he realized, as he thought he saw that none of these people really seemed to think she could even still be out there, that she could survive without him at her side. It pissed him off on her account.

Rick, on the other hand—Daryl knew that the Sheriff believed she was still out there. He also suspected that Rick knew how important the littlest Greene had become to him; if not to the true extent, he knew that Daryl felt obligated to track her down, out of guilt, if nothing else.

"We'll put it to a vote," Rick said as Abraham continued to grumble. Daryl knew that Rick was just trying to be diplomatic, especially still with the keen sting of the Governor not that far behind them. But it made him worried.

Suddenly he knew. Even if his family voted against this, against her, he'd leave them, part ways with them and their mission for D.C. and go and find her himself.

The hands started to go up. Maggie and Glenn were of course the first to go. Rick voted with him, casting him a look that said, despite his disbelief that this was even happening, he best put his hand up if he wanted to help the cause. So he did. There wasn't much that he wouldn't do if Rick gave him a good reason behind doing it.

With Rick and Daryl's hands went Carl's as well. He always thought the kid might have a bit of a crush on her, but Beth had never said anything to make him think she might be interested. Either way, he was relieved to have another person on his side.

Michonne parted one more look to Little Ass Kicker, who it should be noted was bobbing her own arm around crazily—Daryl took it to mean she was definitely on his side—before raising her own hand. He hated that her decision was based on Little Ass Kicker, but he supposed beggars couldn't be choosers.

He glanced at Carol, but only for a second. She wouldn't vote for it, he was almost certain. She was too pragmatic now, too strategic. Starting the trip to D.C. was the logical choice, not embarking on another doomed search and rescue mission—or, at least, that's how he suspected she saw it. Daryl wasn't surprised when she just stared back at him, her face cold, with just a tiny shrug as her parting apology.

"Eugene!" Abraham's voice drew his attention to their corner of the circle they now formed. Daryl almost laughed with pure joy when he saw that mullet man's hand was definitely raised.

"I'll tell you the same thing I told her with the Glenn situation," he said, his voice monotone as he pointed to the little chick. "I may be able to save the whole world, but I still gotta live with myself when it's through."

Abraham appeared to be stunned into silence, as Eugene turned to look at Daryl. "Can she handle herself?"

"If she's gotten away by now, she'll be on her way ta us," he said with a steady nod, knowing that had to be the case

"Then we don't got no other choice, do we?"

Daryl appreciated the offer from Eugene but, as Abraham stomped sulkily off back towards the welcome center, he still felt that temper flaring up. Bob and Sasha he understood—they barely knew her, didn't know what she really meant to him, to their family. But for Carol—that wasn't the case. As he walked past her, he felt Carol's eyes on him, but he refused to meet hers, for fear that his temper would explode all over her if he saw whatever was there.

:::~:::

Eugene had made the demand that, if they were to spend the next several months camping out on their way to D.C., starting with spending this very evening making camp and figuring out their next move in the search for Beth, he would be in need of a tent for that to happen. Daryl had rolled his eyes at that, thinking back on the littlest Greene—the farmer's supposedly spoiled and sheltered daughter—roughing it out in the wilderness for over a month without a damn tent. If she could do it, he thought, a damn man like Eugene sure as hell could manage, mullet or no.

Regardless of Daryl's grumbling and Rick's protest of seeking out unnecessary danger, Abraham had insisted that, whatever Eugene—saint who can save the world from Walkers—wanted, he got. Especially if he was going to agree to this search and rescue mission against his better judgment.

And that was how they found their way towards a Wal-Mart. By some miracle, they had all managed to escape the fight from Box Car A. As fortunate as that was, it now made for a very large group spread out along a small highway that signs seemed to indicate led through a small town up ahead. Signs also indicated that the supply store was just a mile up the road. But, after the long day of fighting and the increasing number of shadows as the sun continued to lower, no one besides Eugene and Abraham seemed too thrilled with this plan.

In the time it took to travel, Carol shared that Tyreese had been removed from her train car earlier in the day and hadn't returned. Sasha was devastated, knowing what the bone yard implied had happened to him. Daryl resisted the urge to cringe at the thought of dying like that, at the thought of what would've happened to Little Ass Kicker, had Carol's number been called instead.

After sharing this information, he found Carol posted at his arm, as if it were her guard duty for the night. Rick and Carl had taken turns carrying Little Ass Kicker since they had slipped out of Terminus relatively unnoticed by the others from the train cars. That left Carol free of babysitting one soul, so he supposed she sought to fill that void with him; he grumbled as he watched her out of the corner of his eyes.

"I'm glad to see you again," she said, her eyes trained on his.

He nodded in response, not necessarily feeling up to talking, especially with her, as he kept picturing Karen and David, and that look of indifference on her face when it came time to vote on their next move. Indifferent or not, she was still in tow, now on a journey she hadn't even voted in favor of. It fueled Daryl, left him with only one goal in mind.

"Tyreese told me the prison fell to the Governor," she said quietly, and he could almost tell she was saying it to get a read on his reaction. He thought she might be trying to see if Rick had told him what she did.

"Reckon he had to," he started, his voice gruffer than he had heard it be in a long time. "Since ya weren't there ta see it."

He didn't look at her, but from what he could see out of the corner of his eyes, she was unsurprised and disappointed that Rick had taken it upon himself to share her crimes.

"I had my reasons, Daryl. You know I did. I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't thought it was the best thing for all of us—"

"I'm sure ya did," he said with a nod of his head. "But I don't remember anyone givin' you the right to make those type'a decisions."

With that, they had fortunately reached the Wal-Mart. It wasn't that he was necessarily mad at her for what she'd done; it was just that it wasn't all right in his books, what she did. He had been mad at Rick for getting rid of her, but, really, he'd be even more frustrated with her for doing it in the first place.

Daryl, Rick, Glenn and Maggie went in first, followed by the others in a tight line to sweep the place. The door had to be pried open, since it was automatic and the power had long been out. The entire building was eerily dark and quiet, but it made it easier to hear the Walkers coming. With using knives, they were able to clear the building out without too much fuss.

The first thing he did, once they were given the go ahead to search the store and get whatever they needed, was wander over to the sports section and retrieve some more arrows for his bow. The supply was picked pretty clean, but he was able to find some made for his weapon.

He paused for a moment, as his eyes set on a smaller crossbow that would've fit perfectly in Beth's hand. He sighed and promised himself that they'd find her one as soon as he found her.

As he moved to join the others in the camping gear, he stumbled upon a wall of sports bikes rigged up; as soon as he saw them, his eyes came to rest there as he drew himself to a sudden stop. Quite a few had been maneuvered off the walls, he noticed. But there were still some there.

Forcing his ass into gear, he shook his head to get rid of her voice, which lingered in the back of his mind, as it reminded him that she had made him a promise. Daryl didn't know when she'd be able to do good on that promise, and it made that clench tighten around his gut. He had to find her first, he thought. And he would, he just knew there was no other option.

When he found the others, they were busy avidly discussing who would be bunking up with who and just how many tents they would need as a result. Still a bit peeved from the various arguments of the day, he silently approached the wall. Avoiding the conversation entirely, he walked straight up to the supply and grabbed his own tent. While he saw no need to actually use something as fucking ridiculous as a tent, he was hoping the move would send the message that he wasn't one for company; this tent was his and his alone.

Daryl turned and started making his way back towards the front of the store, encouraged at the sound of conversation stopping with his move to grab the tent and only resuming once he was nearly out of earshot. He would wait for them there, he thought; he saw no need to be overly social, mostly because he didn't think he could count on his temper being in check just yet.


	21. Confessions

**Over the course of time since I submitted chapter 20, this story reached over ten thousand views. I just wanted to take a moment to thank all of you who continue to read, follow and favorite. It means so much to me that you are willing to invest your time and energy in my story :- **

**To my Brazilian double reviewer :-)—Your appreciation of my Little Ass Kicker comment made me smile. I had forgotten that until I reread it the day before I submitted it. When it came to me, it was just so…****_Daryl_**** to me that I couldn't resist putting it in there. I hope that my reunion does not disappoint you and that Beth's thoughts in regards to Maggie correspond with what you'd like to see. Words fail me in expressing how appreciative I am of you and your consistent support :-) **

**In general, the Maggie confrontation was a huge hit. I'm glad I wasn't the only one in need of releasing some anger on that front!**

**One final note, several key aspects of this chapter have been detailed much further than they were originally, thanks to conversations with some very awesome reviewers. Thank you to those of you who continue to ask interesting questions that make me only ponder the show further than I already have :-)**

He volunteered for first watch. It only made sense, as no one else had even gotten their tent put together yet. Most of these people were twice the age he was when he first pitched his own tent; and, yet, here they were, no idea how to get their shit in order. Despite knowing Beth wouldn't want him to react in such a way, their lack of adaptability made his eyes roll.

Daryl was also eager to get the hell away from the group. Abraham was still complaining—_loudly_—about the decision they had come to earlier, taking turns cursing out Daryl for insisting upon the issue and at Eugene, for being the final nail in the D.C. coffin.

They had set up in a clearing, just off from a line of trees that circled three quarters of the way around their camp. Daryl felt like it was too exposed, but there wasn't much else to be done about it. They had strung up some cans from the dinner they had stolen from the Wal-Mart that would suffice to alert whoever was on watch to any approaching Walkers.

Still, there would be a watch, and they would take shifts throughout the night. It wasn't assured—nothing really was now, Daryl thought—but it was a start.

His shift was to last the first few hours. It was already dark by the time they had found a place to settle, started a fire and ate their dinners. Shortly after that, Daryl had assembled his tent with relative ease and told Glenn that he'd relieve him so he could go eat and help Maggie get set up for the night.

No one seemed to question him or talk to him too much. He imagined they could tell he was beyond on edge. Daryl wondered if they took this to mean something—if, maybe, they suspected something in regards to Beth. If he over thought the occasional extra wary glance that got thrown his way, he might begin to get paranoid and think they were on to him.

Now that he had achieved their ultimate goal of reuniting with the bulk of their family, he realized just how sloppy he had been in planning ahead. He hadn't decided how he would handle things. Now that he was here, with the very realistic chance of starting to look for her tomorrow—although, really, if he'd had his way, he'd be out there right now—he needed to get his shit in order.

It was no one's business, he thought. He and Beth could make their own damn decisions. And they would, once he got Beth back and he got a sense of where she stood after their conversation in the funeral home.

_The funeral home_, Christ that felt like that was forever ago. But, at the same time, he realized, it felt like it was just yesterday that he was looking across his jar of jelly at her.

He remembered how stupid he had felt, sitting at the crossroads the next day. Why hadn't he just been straight with her, told her what was going through his mind? All he had needed to say was one word—_You_, you were what changed my mind. At the time, when he fell down to the pavement, he had seriously wondered what was wrong with him, how he could be such a coward and shy away from just telling her what was going on.

Now, from the other end of waiting, searching and hoping, he understood it a bit more. When faced with the reality of finding her, that nervousness fluttered through the clenching in his stomach.

He took a deep breath and reminded himself for what felt to be the millionth time that evening that he had to find her first. God knew how long that would take.

As his family set up their six tents, he began to speculate who would stay with who, as little more than a means of distraction to keep himself from crossing into the line of trees directly to start the search.

Maggie and Glenn were a given—they were never separated, so this would be no different. Rick, Carl and Judith would take another. Once Carol had finished constructing a tent that he thought might be for her and Michonne, she joined Rick and lent him a helping hand caring for Little Ass Kicker. But, even then, Rick seemed hesitant to let her go. No, the Sheriff would definitely have the baby by his side tonight, in that little box they had found at the Wal-Mart earlier; Daryl was sure of it.

The couple new comers would stay together; although Daryl thought he saw the one that came in with Glenn and the chick from Abraham's group lingering towards Michonne and Carol's door.

Interestingly enough, it appeared Bob and Sasha would be staying together. Daryl couldn't decide if this was simply out of lack of supply from the Wal-Mart or if it meant something else. If he were honest, he didn't really care. If he had the right to make his own damn decisions, so did they.

His mind wandered back to where it really wanted to be, as he wondered who Beth would stay with once they found her. Normally, he would've assumed Maggie, but with knowing the ground Maggie had to make up for, he wasn't so sure the oldest Greene deserved the company of his littlest Greene.

The sound of a twig snapping behind him had Daryl turning directly back to the tree line, bow instantly in hand. Out of the tree line stumbled an African American man, dressed all in black with what looked like a white collar. As soon as his eyes came up and he saw Daryl's bow, he frantically held his hands up in surrender.

Daryl was just about to issue an order to the guy when he heard another person stumbling through the forest. Whoever they were, they were definitely quieter than this guy. But they weren't as quiet as him.

In anticipation, he pointed his bow in the direction of the newest arrival, before they even appeared.

"Father Gabriel, I told you to wait for me. That was very unsafe! You never know—"

He heard her voice before he saw her. Before his brain could even process who was about to come out of the tree line, the flash of bright blonde hair confirmed what he hadn't even had time to suspect. As soon as she emerged, his bow was lowered, as if beyond any control of his own. Within moments, she seemed to see something of interest out of the corner of her eye and turned to look at him.

The bright smile that overtook her face was nearly as bold as her hair. In an instant, she started walking quickly towards him. Without even thinking about it, he threw the bow down and instinctively put his arms out to catch her in her accelerated speed.

"Daryl," her voice whispered in his ear, the second he had caught her.

Daryl knew these first few moments were pivotal. He needed to try to take as much of it in as she offered to him, knowing that she could answer a few of the questions that had plagued him since their unfinished conversation from the funeral home.

But he was immediately on overload. Her fingers wound through his hair and pulled him down to rest his chin on her shoulder. She moved to tuck her head into his neck a bit as she whispered again. "_Daryl_," she said.

He was sure he had to be dreaming. There was no other option. In all his life, every time he had something good come his way, it had been taken from him. Nothing had ever found its way back to him. Not until now.

And, yet, here he was, wrapping his arms shyly around her back and shoulder. He tilted his head downward a bit further, as his nose met the collar of her still stained yellow shirt. She smelled like Beth, he realized, and he knew then—it had to be her. And she was here.

"Beth?" Maggie's voice asked from behind them—interrupting them, if you were to ask Daryl.

Slowly and hesitantly, he felt Beth pull away, almost as if he didn't think she wanted to get her hopes up that she could have found more than just him. Beth pulled back just slightly, just far enough to look him in the eye.

"Maggie?" she asked, quietly, and he was intrigued to hear that it was not only a question, but one directed for his confirmation; no one else had been able to hear her, that was for sure.

He nodded once, doing his best to keep his expression blank, in the case that Maggie might see something that raised her suspicions. If she wasn't suspicious already, that is.

That knowing smile, which he had just known would overtake her face at the knowledge that her sister and, presumably, a portion of their family, was still alive, erupted to claim her face; it whispered to him oh-so sweetly—_I told ya so_.

Beth's eyes left his as she turned in the direction of Maggie's voice. She left his side to give her sister a hug. Daryl watched them for just a moment, before movement out of the corner of his eye had him moving quicker than he had in a long time.

Resuming the hold on his bow, he had it instantly pointed at the asshole who had come out of the forest before Beth.

"Where ya think your goin', asshole?" he asked, bow aimed and poised to shoot.

Suddenly, a hand was gripping his arm and, without even needing to look away from the guy's face for confirmation, he knew it was hers.

"Daryl," she started quietly, with that soft, soothing voice of hers. "It's okay," she said, but he still didn't take his eyes off of the other guy. "He doesn't mean us any harm."

"The hell he doesn't," Daryl started, as he did what he knew Beth would do, if their roles were reversed—he looked to take in the outfit the guy was wearing again, trying to read it for any clues it could offer up. He couldn't be so sure, but he thought it looked religious—like something someone with a cross on their windshield would wear. "This is the asshole who took ya, right?" He still hadn't looked to meet her eyes.

"Yes, he did," she confirmed and Daryl felt his trigger finger getting sweaty in anticipation. "_But_," she quickly added, causing him to pause. "Before you do anything rash, you should hear him out."

He paused, as he thought that was absolutely the last thing he wanted to do right now. Daryl didn't want to do nothing but end this asshole.

But then Beth took a step closer to him, and she was in his personal space, drawing his acute attention, even if his eyes still hadn't gone to hers. "There are still good people, Daryl," she said and it nearly did him in. Suddenly, he felt the words chip at his reconstructed walls; she was gonna do him in all over again.

"Ya gonna tell me the asshole who took ya is a good person?" he whispered disbelievingly, but even he could acknowledge that the fight had left his voice. She had a way of cleaning out his temper.

"No," she answered and he saw her nod in agreement with him out of the corner of his eyes. "But I think you should give him the chance to explain himself and his motives. Don't you?" she asked and he could almost hear the sweet smile in her voice.

And that was it. The very last bit of fight left in him faded as he met her eyes, bow still poised. When she gave him that small smile and nod, he was done, as he lowered his bow and moved to look her over eagerly, in search of even the slightest injury.

"Father Gabriel," she started, looking to the other guy. "That's my sister Maggie. I'm sure she'd be more than willing to help you get settled in. We'll be right over and then we can tell everyone what happened," she said brightly before she turned back from the Father's retreating form to face Daryl.

He found no injury on her, but he did watch the Father's limping form warily as he followed Maggie to join all of the others now sitting around the fire.

Beth's grip on his arm tightened, bringing his eyes back to hers. "Come on," she said, her smile brightening again. "I'm not gonna leave you over here," she continued, tugging on his jacket—the jacket he had found, in their cabin, with her.

:::~:::

She could nearly feel Daryl itching with anticipation from his spot next to her, and she suspected it wasn't merely a corresponding response to Judith's eager squirming at the return of her main caretaker.

As she threw another glance at Daryl and found him watching her and Judith, she knew he was impatient; she could see it etched all over his face and pouring out of those blue eyes. However, what remained unclear was the source of his restlessness.

Part of it, she suspected, lay at the hands of the return of his Little Ass Kicker who had, according to the stories shared, been missing since the fall of the prison. Certainly, Judith's presence commanded a fair bit of his attention, she noted, as his eyes alternated back to the little girl; but Beth didn't think that was all of it.

No, she suspected he was rendered very exasperated by being forced to sit through tales of travel from the others—stories she felt certain he had already heard. Every time she looked at him, she found his eyes set to her—that haste all over his face, as he waited to hear what had happened to her.

His posture was relaxed enough, as he sat on the ground, one arm propped behind his back to hold him up and the other casually strewn about his raised knee. But his fidgeting told another story entirely; it seemed, to Beth, that he could hardly hold still.

She wished she felt confident enough to lay a soothing hand on his shoulder, but she didn't trust it—didn't know where they stood, especially in terms of the presence of others. She wasn't even sure if there was a secret to tell, but, if there was, she didn't want to be the one blabbing it prematurely.

Carol, after fulfilling Beth's shyly uttered offer to hold baby Judith, shared tales of her time spent with Tyreese, Lizzie and Mica. The story utterly broke Beth's heart, to hear witness of such horrible suffering.

The story made her wonder, beyond her own will, what exactly had happened—what had prompted such a troubled mind in one so young. She would attribute Lizzie's state of mind to the condition of the world in which they now called home, but that explanation didn't feel quite right to her; she had helped care for several of the children at the prison and none of them had ever showed any warning signs that indicated they had chosen the path that Lizzie did—the path that seemed to suggest that Walkers were friends to be made, not enemies to be killed.

She wondered what she would've done, if presented with the terrible situation Carol had found herself in. How would she have cared for the child after such a horrible instance? What approach would she have taken? Would she have eliminated Lizzie, as Carol had chosen to do? Or would she have tried to find a different approach—something to seek to amend the wrongful path Lizzie had obviously found herself on?

Beth rather suspected that, by the fall of the prison, Lizzie's mind had already been set. Perhaps if there would've been signs, if Carol had known what to look for, interpreted some apparently random misguided actions for their inherent deeper meaning…. Beth found herself wondering if, in some different, kinder universe, perhaps Lizzie could've been saved—could've been forced to realize she had the wrong point of view on the matter of Walkers; a viewpoint that was understandable, given their human origins, but which was ultimately nothing but dangerous.

Maybe, Beth thought, if she had talked to her, expressed how she had felt upon first experiencing the Walkers, and just how incredibly wrong she had proven to be, she could've done something to persuade Lizzie—to reassure her that they were not seeking friendship, but their next meal.

Beth was by no means so naïve as to think she alone could've saved the girl. But, she couldn't help but wonder what could've happened, had she put forth her experiences, to combine them with Carol's existing efforts. Perhaps then she could've done something to save them both—to save Carol from having to make that choice to begin with.

Beth had always been intrigued by Carol's interactions with the two girls. She knew that she felt indebted to care for them, due to the death of their father in the sweeping grip of the illness that had plagued them.

Much like how Beth felt about Judith, it had obviously never been an obligation to Carol; she had cared affectionately for the girls. However, it seemed to Beth that, unlike her relationship with Little Ass Kicker, Carol's care was not always issued with a sense of kindness; there was something of a begrudging aspect to it—an understandable reaction that seemed to stem from the still keen sting of losing Sophia.

That was not the only affect from Sophia that Beth had read on Carol's relationship with the girls, on her care of some of the other younger children who called the prison home. Beth had heard rumblings, in her time spent caring for the very same children, that she was training them to fight. They had let it slip unintentionally to each other while she was close enough to hear, but not close enough to be noted. She hadn't gathered enough information to truly seek to tell the others, but she couldn't deny that it had prompted a feeling of confliction in her.

Beth understood entirely that to survive in this world, fighting would be a requisite at some point; running was no longer enough. She knew that Sophia had tried to run and had failed. Beth couldn't help but think that, perhaps, the lessons on fighting were meant to overcome what Carol saw as her own shortcomings in preparing Sophia for this world.

While Beth didn't blame anyone for the loss of Sophia—not Carol, and certainly neither Rick nor Daryl—she couldn't help but wonder if this dedication to teaching survival, instead of what it means to truly _live_ in this world, had allowed Lizzie's troubled mind to slip her attention, furthering the progression of loss of comprehending what danger the Walkers truly presented.

Beth didn't intend to say that Lizzie's troubled mental state was Carol's fault. She simply hated to see the loss of a life; especially if she couldn't help but wonder if there had been the chance she could've help, long before the issue had even truly started.

The story drew her attention to Carol, who looked so very tired after weeks spent on the road. She recalled that Carol had been without a home for longer than they had, as she remembered what Daryl had told her about the strike against Karen and David.

Beth's eyes found Daryl's once more, as she sought to read his reaction on the Lizzie story. His eyes were on Carol's as she spoke, although they didn't necessarily look pleased. Whether the origin of the vexation was from this new information regarding Lizzie or lingering contention on the Karen and David issue, she couldn't be quite sure.

Maggie pressed in on the conversation next, forcing Beth's attention back to her family in general. As her sister talked of her struggle to find Glenn, the miles she had walked on the tracks and the messages she had left in her wake, Beth felt a pang of an emotion she couldn't quite identify. The story saw to her receiving confirmation that, as she had once told Daryl, Maggie would always go for Glenn as her first priority.

Without meaning to, her eyes wandered once more to the man sitting next to her, whom she found staring at her intently, almost as if he had expected her to look at him then. She found none of the irritation present at Carol's story, but did note a bit of a blush on his cheeks; she rationalized that it could mean very little, serving merely as the product of sitting too close to the warm fire.

With this one glance, she also found that, through his arm that propped him up, he seemed to have leaned himself closer towards her than he had been previously. It reminded her acutely of her belated realization that he had moved his chair to sit next to her instead of across from her at their funeral home. Despite the confusion and slight strain put on her by Maggie's tale, she found herself smiling at him.

Rick and Michonne went next, temporarily putting any and all thoughts related to Maggie and Daryl to the back of her mind. She was delighted that their tale was, for the most part, relatively cheerful, as they spoke of a happy early reunion, within days of the prison first falling. It sounded as if Rick had suffered some pretty severe injuries, but they had managed to hold strong and hold together through it all.

Their story apparently intersected with Daryl's, who Rick prompted to speak next. Beth took the opportunity to look at him—to detail a series of new injuries, which she had noted as soon as she had pulled away from her initial embrace of him. Now, in the brighter light of the glowing fire, she could see that none of them appeared to be very far along on the course of healing; these hadn't come from the herd that had found him, the state of the injuries informed her.

Daryl cleared his throat and looked away from her to sit up a bit straighter; his second arm joined his other in draping over his raised leg. He started by saying that he had been with her for a while, only to pause and glare at Father Gabriel before turning to her for a brief moment. She smiled at him, barely able to hold back an affectionate laugh at the near petulant pout upon his face.

But as he started speaking again, introducing a group of men he had begrudgingly gotten involved with, she felt as if everyone slipped away, as if it were only the two of them all over again.

"I knew they were men," she said with a smile, her voice soft as she cradled Judith. He looked at her immediately. "Sorry to interrupt," she said, as she recalled where they were, who they were with, and raised a hand guiltily to her mouth. "I could just tell, from the tracks. From what you taught me," she added with a sheepish shrug as she averted her eyes to Judith, who was finally dozing off.

When she risked looking up at him again, she thought he looked rather proud. It made her bite back a bright smile.

Daryl continued on and, as the story progressed, it only got worse. She cringed at the repeated use of the term claimed and she flat-out gasped at the death of Len. She could tell that, despite all of the trouble Len had put Daryl through, he felt some lingering sense of responsibility for the situation. Personally, she thought he should carry very little, if any, of the blame; it was these men who had killed him, not Daryl.

As time went on, the story only grew in severity, as it was revealed that the man they had been tracking turned out to be Rick. She felt her whole body tense, knowing that Daryl would feel nothing but terribly heavy guilt at leading men he obviously joined out of nothing more than necessity straight to a man she believed he considered as a brother. He hid it well, perhaps because he had had some time to process it in the last few days, but she knew it was still there, lingering underneath his surface.

When he met her eyes at the close of the confrontation, which sounded as if it had gotten pretty bad, but which, Beth couldn't help but note, conveniently lacked for details, she did her best to convey to him that she was proud of him—proud of him for taking the risk of joining others, even if he was wary of them. It had shown growth, in her opinion. She'd have to be sure to tell him that.

From there, the entire group began to tell their tale of Terminus. From what Daryl had alluded to, but failed to outright state, the people who were there were a new breed of horrible and should never be thought of again. She didn't quite know what that could mean; perhaps, some day, she could build up the stomach to ask it of him. But, not today; now she wanted nothing more than to be content in having a majority of their family reunited.

She learned that they had lost Tyreese to Terminus, but all of the others—including the four newcomers to the group—had managed to make it out in one piece. Beth couldn't help but think that made them incredibly lucky, as if they weren't already there by the mere state of their reunion alone.

As soon as the Terminus story was done, she felt Daryl's eyes glued on her, as he waited to hear her speak her piece.

"I suppose it's my turn," she said then, unintentionally cutting off the slight bit of conversation she hadn't noticed rising after the close of the detailing of the Terminus adventure. It stirred a discomfort in her, causing a reprise of her earlier insecurities—did they hold any interest in how she had survived?

She didn't want to be a bother, which stirred her to wonder if she should tell her story to begin with. Beth's anxiety applied pressure, prompting her to shift her weight, as a combination of a distraction and as a means of seeking comfort under the weight of the sleeping Judith on her chest. With one look to Daryl she knew he, at the very least, was eager to hear this story.

Before she started, she looked to Father Gabriel. They hadn't discussed what they would say, mostly because Beth recalled with a bitter taste in her mouth just how some people could omit certain facts to misrepresent things. If done under the wrong reasons, the choice to do so just felt hollow and malicious to her.

But she knew that wasn't always the case. Daryl had chosen this practice with the confrontation he detailed earlier. Beth realized she, much like him, knew that some things were simply not her secrets to tell.

Father Gabriel had a chance to start over here, if she chose to not share his entire past with the group. While his background was obviously still disconcerting, she didn't believe the whole group needed to know. Daryl and Rick should know, she thought, out of sheer hope for self-preservation and trust; but the others could make do without it for now.

Gabriel nodded once, yet his eyes remained wary and nervous. She knew instantly that he worried she would confess his horrible cowardice. No, she thought, she wouldn't. Not this night, not to everyone. If for no other reason than it wasn't her story to tell to their general public—not yet.

She started by explaining her initial confrontation with Father Gabriel, on the lawn of the funeral home. She explained that he had only meant to save her from the herd of Walkers, as, since Daryl was still in the house working on finding a way out of his own diversion, he had thought she had been alone.

Beth explained that she had struggled and tried to tell him that someone was coming, but that the hand across her mouth hadn't allowed for that. She risked a glance over at Daryl and found him stewing, though his eyes were still on her, not on Gabriel. She took that as a good sign that his temper was under control, for now, and carried on.

In the continued confrontation, she explained that, in a rush to get her in the car, safely tucked away from the approaching Walkers, Gabriel, due partially to her failing and still injured ankle, misaimed and accidentally hit her head on the siding of the vehicle, causing her to pass out and not be able to yell or struggle against his directions any further.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Daryl's hands clench around the top of his knees, the knuckles going white in the strength of the grip. Beth gave Daryl another glance, trying to convey that she hoped he could keep his cool, at least until the close of the story. He seemed to read it fairly accurately, which made her smile in return.

When she explained the process of waking up the next morning and explaining to Gabriel that he had forced her to abandon a member of her family, she detailed that she was able to persuade him to return to the funeral home so she could start the process of tracking.

She told them how she had managed to follow the tracks of the very men who had attacked Rick, Michonne and Carl, up until the point where they started to strictly follow the railroad tracks.

Beth conveyed her concern that there was less sense of accuracy in following a trail that didn't really have any further tracks to offer. However, as soon as she saw her first sign for Terminus, she had an instinctual feeling that that would be her best chance at finding the others. She quickly decided then, that that should be her next destination.

"I knew it was trouble," she said, looking to Daryl. "But I also knew that that was where you would go," she said, before she turned to the others. "Where we all would go, even if it was a huge risk, because there was just the slightest chance that our family would feel the same way we did, and would then choose to go there too. On that sheer fact alone," she continued, her eyes coming back to Daryl's. "I knew I didn't have any other choice."

She explained that the state of the last prints before Daryl had obviously parted ways with the dirt for the pull of the tracks seemed to suggest that she had been getting close, possibly within a mere hour or two of catching up to Daryl and the others.

"But," she said with a sad sigh, looking to Gabriel's ankle. "Before we could catch up, we got into a bit of a bad position. A herd found us, a fight broke out. It was really the first time Father Gabriel had faced that many Walkers in one shot," she said, her eyes coming back to him.

She may not wish to talk of his cowardice to the group, but this, she thought, they needed to hear; even if they couldn't appreciate what the move had meant, as they didn't have the context of his history to serve as a comparison. With a smile, she continued, knowing that her pride in him was showing. "He hesitated at first, took him a bit to jump in," Beth started, with a small laugh. "I was just about to have a very bad situation on my hands when he suddenly appeared out of no where, knife in hand and ready to fight.

"We took them down," she continued, with a small smile. "Together. But, he got injured in the fight. Nothing too serious," she added immediately, seeing all eyes turn to the Father. "He just twisted his ankle. We stopped at a church for an hour or two to give me a chance to examine and wrap the injury. Once I was sure he was okay to travel, we moved on.

"From there, we had to move forward a bit slower. Fortunately, we had resolved to follow the tracks to their end at spotting that sign. I had hoped I could maybe catch up before you reached Terminus, but I couldn't quite do it.

"We heard the shots this afternoon, but I was still too far away to do much of anything about it. Father Gabriel may have slowed us down a bit, but it appears that was all for the best, now knowing what horrible things you all went through."

"Did you know the noise was from us?" Maggie asked.

"I thought it might be," she said, with a smile. "I figured, at the very least, Rick and Daryl had somehow managed to find each other—only those two could cause that much ruckus."

She heard Rick laugh roughly and looked up to see him nodding his head. Daryl, on the other hand, she noted, seemed incapable of looking away from her.

"I arrived at the gates shortly after the sun had gone down. There were still a few people lingering about, but I stayed on the edge of the trees, just watching. When I didn't see either of you," she said, motioning to Rick and Daryl. "I knew I couldn't be far behind you. Father Gabriel wanted to break camp for the night and resume the search in the morning.

"But," she continued with a small smile. "I was insistent. I had managed to find a flashlight at the church I wrapped his injury at; at the time, it had just been a beneficial and supplemental light. But, now," she said, her smile pulling even tighter. "It allowed me to find all of you pretty easily, even in the dark.

"So I fished it out of my bag, turned to Father Gabriel and said that there was no way we were stoppin' now. I knew I had to be close. It was just a matter of reading the signs," she finished with one proud nod of her head, her eyes on Daryl.

:::~:::

The circle of her family broke out into smaller pairs for conversation once the exchange of stories had been completed. The slightly raised volume had Judith stirring against her chest, but she didn't mind in the slightest. She was so incredibly happy to see Little Ass Kicker that she was sure she wouldn't mind resuming her early crying wake up call in the mornings.

"Never thought I'd say it," Daryl startled her from her reverie by speaking and leaning in to run a hand over Judith's back. "But good ta see her stirrin'."

"I was just thinking that," she said with a small laugh. "Even if she gets me up hours before the sun tomorrow, I don't think I'll mind in the slightest."

He released one rough laugh. "Ya be sure to say that to me again tomorra when it happens."

She was all smiles and nods as she said, "I sure will."

Their eyes met again as Daryl just continued to soothingly rub Judith's back and Beth bounced her, knowing it really was time to try to ease her back to sleep. Within a few minutes, they had managed it very well.

Rick came to collect her just as Glenn tapped Daryl on the back, drawing him over to discuss watch duty for the evening. Beth watched as Rick grabbed Father Gabriel on his way towards his own tent for the evening and cautiously welcomed them to their family. He ushered the Father away and Beth hoped that he could hold his nerves together; he wasn't necessarily a social man, by her standards.

Suddenly without anything to do, Beth felt exhausted. She had been constantly on the move for the last few days, seeking out her family and Daryl. It was oddly disconcerting to suddenly have no purpose.

"Do you think I should start putting out the fire?" she asked Carol, who was the only other remaining person at the fireside.

Carol had been watching her, but Beth didn't take too much stock in it. They were all so tired no one's eyes seemed to hold much focus now. As Beth waited for her to respond, she saw the others were climbing into five or six set up tents. She watched as Maggie slipped her one small smile before entering and sealing in a tent with Glenn, who had evidently already received his watch assignment and was now ready for bed. With a stir, she wondered where she would stay for the night.

At that, her eyes wandered behind her to Daryl once more. With a shock, Beth found that he was watching her, looking between her and the tent Maggie now inhabited with Glenn; and, what's more, he didn't look away once she met his eyes.

She saw that Daryl's focus wasn't even remotely on the man who stood with him, whom Beth had learned was named Abraham. Despite the obvious engagement and excitement experienced by Abraham over the contents of what looked to be a map, as he pointed and flailed energetically, Daryl's eyes remained unaffected, as they stayed glued on hers.

It made her smile for a moment, beyond any will of her own. But, as soon as his eyes were truly settled in on her, and she saw his lack of attention for the matter at hand, she gave him a jokingly stern look, which prompted a smirk—and, or had she imagined it, a _blush_—from him before he turned his eyes back to Abraham.

With a sigh, she thought on how she'd like to talk to him and clear the air a bit before she figured out the sleeping issue for the evening. She had so many things she had waited far too long to say as it were.

"You don't have to," Carol responded after a lengthy pause. "I was just about to get up and do it."

"Nonsense," she started as she stood to match Carol's change in stance. "I won't feel right if I'm not carrying my weight."

Beth watched as Carol's eyes suddenly flicked above her head. With a shock, she realized Carol was looking directly behind her, to Daryl. Seconds later, her eyes wandered over to a sleeping Judith, who was entering a tent with Rick and Carl.

"I'm sure you'll find other ways," she said, her tone rather flat compared to the Carol Beth thought she knew.

Acutely, Beth recalled once again the bit of information that Daryl had shared with her in their time together—that Carol had been the one to kill Karen and David. Despite the still stutteringly lit fire, Beth felt a chill go through her at the thought.

"I want to help," she asserted, although her voice was still soft as she moved to help Carol with dumping some dust on the fire. Within moments, they had it flickering out, although she did notice that Carol seemed persistent to beat her to the task.

The tone of race to the action confused Beth; their life, their family, shouldn't be a competition—it should be a collaboration. At least, in Beth's opinion it should be.

When they were done, Carol parted ways with one curt nod thrown in her direction, as she walked over to a tent she seemed to be sharing with Michonne and two of the other new women.

The interaction didn't sit right with Beth, who hated thinking she had done something wrong to aggravate the other woman. But she couldn't for the life of her place any errors she had made that could've irritated Carol.

Of course, she had requested Judith upon her initial arrival but, knowing what she did now, that Carol had long been caring for the child, shouldn't that have been a relief? That had been Beth's intention, after all, at seeing Carol weighed down with an evidently rowdy Judith.

Suddenly cold from the lack of a roaring fire, she rubbed her arms over the grey sweater she still had from the cabin they had stayed at to patch up Daryl's back. The mere thought of it sent another chill through her.

As if by some force of habit, her eyes wandered up and found his again. She could almost feel him moving behind her, as she lingered behind by the side of the nearly dead fire, despite the fact that pretty much everyone else had gone to bed.

Without the light of the fire, she could barely see Abraham at his post on watch; if not for his red hair, she wasn't sure she would've see him at all. Her eyes shifted back into focus, to find Daryl standing directly in front of where Abraham's back was turned towards her, and a bit closer than the guard was.

He shifted towards a lonely tent, set off a bit in the distance from the others. With one last glance thrown her way over his shoulder, he climbed his way into his tent.

Beth lingered for a few minutes more, wondering if she should really do this. She had played this conversation out countless times in her head, usually in the time that it took her to fall asleep at night. But now that it was here, her opportunity to actually pursue this conversation, to say the things she so desperately needed him to hear, she wouldn't deny that her nerves had hit her pretty hard.

Beth had always been somewhat introverted. Talking earlier to explain her path with Father Gabriel had been a lot for her. It hadn't necessarily made her nervous—this was, after all, her family now—but it did make her feel a bit uncomfortable. She just wasn't used to talking that much, she supposed. She was a thinker, not a talker.

This seemed, to Beth, to be another item she and Daryl had in common; in the moments when he wasn't suffering from any form of anger, he also always seemed to have a circle of thoughts trapping him inside his mind. As a result, conversations with a complacent and taciturn Daryl often drove her to become the extrovert, to be the one driving the conversation forward.

In a way, she liked that about them. He forced her to come out of her shell, whether he intended to or not. There was no denying that before being pushed to her end by over a week spent with a sulky and taciturn Daryl, she wasn't necessarily known for making stands. But, now, they had crossed that bridge together. She had demolished their walls and set immediately to rebuilding them. She liked to think, in the end, they had both come out as better people on the other side.

Now, she needed to pull on that strength he had given her.

With a nervous sigh, she approached the tent, pulling her hair out of its ponytail and unbraiding the section that had remained that way for several days. She needed a bath, she thought distractedly, as she made her way over to the tent.

When she arrived, she fell to her knees and smiled as she saw he hadn't even slid the zipper shut the whole way. It encouraged her, prompted her to hope that he had potentially left it in such a state in the expectation that she would come to see him. Regardless, she would be lying if she said there wasn't still the pressing of that nervousness on her stomach.

Awkwardly, she tried to knock, only to realize belatedly that tents didn't necessarily come with that luxury. With an internal sigh, she resorted herself to entering unannounced.

Her hands shook slightly as she set to opening the door the remaining amount of the way. In an instant, she gasped slightly as she felt the cool medal of a knife pressed against her throat. Adrenaline ran through her, even as a knowing smile slid into place on her face. That was her Daryl—always on high alert.

"Sorry," she muttered as she brought her eyes up to meet his shyly. She noted he had almost lowered the knife even quicker than he had brought it to her skin; it was gone before she even started to speak. He was also very close, she realized—his face directly in hers. "I would've knocked," she started with a small, quiet laugh as she ran her hand over the pliant material of the tent. "But this doesn't exactly make that an easy task."

He nodded, lowering his knife to place it back in the belt he had tucked on the ground by his door. Daryl didn't shift in the slightest, she noted, as his face still lingered close to hers. Beth already felt a strain that made her struggle to remember to breathe.

"May I come in?" she asked, doing her best to smile as if this was any normal interaction between them.

He nodded once more and she really did smile then—always so stoic, she thought. Daryl moved to the side and she crawled on her knees to enter the tight space.

There wasn't a lot of luxury to be had in the shelter, but Beth hadn't expected any; she knew Daryl far too well to expect otherwise. It seemed he had nothing more than a trash bag—_the _trash bag? She wondered—that served as his makeshift pillow. This wouldn't do, she thought, smiling slightly once again at the thought to improve his living conditions. She didn't want him just settling, just surviving. He deserved more than that.

Daryl slid the zipper shut—_fully _shut, she noted—behind her as she moved to sit back where he would've been lying, if his head had been placed on his 'pillow.' Immediately he swooped in and gripped her neck, his fingers weaving around her nape as his thumb prodded at the slight knick she had suffered at his measures of security from earlier.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," she muttered, her voice strained as he tilted her head upward and came in closer to get a better look. "I didn't even notice anything," she added as she licked her lips nervously.

Finally he eased back a bit. The distance gave her some room to think, as she felt her smile come back at being able to see him, talk to him. He seemed to be waiting, and Beth couldn't help but think that that had been the case for far too long now.

"I—I just wanted to apologize," she started, ringing her hands in her lap as she inwardly cringed at her own stuttering. "I didn't hold up my end of the promise—I wasn't there, waiting for you at the road."

As she finished, she finally met his eyes; the silence had taken its toll on her, rolling over them, demanding she meet his eyes in the hopes that they could tell her something he hadn't found the words for yet. When she was met with sadness, she felt her own heart contract.

And, yet, she couldn't help but note, releasing those words had felt incredibly freeing.

"I should've—"

"Nah," he interrupted her from continuing on. The word was casual out of context, but his tone said nothing but seriousness. Suddenly, she felt her eyes couldn't leave his. "Wasn't your fault. _I_ screwed up, dropped the ball, didn't—didn't hold up my end."

He looked away from her then, to his lap, almost as if he were ashamed. It clenched her heart to see it.

"Shoulda gotten there sooner," he added.

Beth's hand found its way to his chin, where she forced his head and his eyes to come to meet hers. She prepared to tell him something she had told him many times before, something she suspected she'd tell him many times to follow. But, she'd keep on reminding him, so long as he'd keep on letting her.

"It wasn't your fault," she said, as she did her best to keep tears from gathering in her eyes. Her hand grew shaky from the weight of emotion, forcing her to drop his chin, even though it was the last thing she wanted to do. "It wasn't your fault _at all_," she repeated. "And it all worked out, didn't it? You're here, and I'm here, and our family is _here_," she paused, looking down to the floor with a laugh. "And we're _alive_."

Daryl watched her for several seconds, in that way she had seen him do so many times. It was almost as if he were studying her, trying to follow her thought processes, trying to decipher how she had gotten there. She left her eyes open and willing, giving him every thing she had.

When he looked down, she knew there was something else bothering him. It hadn't been there long, but it seemed like he had suffered a flash of a memory, something he wanted to share with her.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, believing that he seemed to have accepted her words on this issue and that this, therefore, had to be something else.

He released a rough laugh before chancing a glance up at her; there was no humor in it. "Made a lot of mistakes after…"

"Everyone makes mistakes, Daryl. It's okay," she interrupted, as he trailed off and left the silence roll on between them. "We can work together to sort everything out. Just one thing at a time," she said with a reassuring smile.

"It's just—with that group," he started.

"Was it bad?" she prompted, when he didn't continue. He merely nodded, giving Beth the impression he wasn't quite ready to discuss it yet.

"And, then, your _sister_," he changed subjects and his tone of voice immediately drew in Beth's attention. Just as she had knew would be the best practice, she waited, knowing he needed time to organize his thoughts and that pressing him would only do damage at this point, not help.

It didn't happen often anymore, but she knew it was his default stance to fall back on things that made him angry when he didn't wish to push topics that riddled him with sadness. While Beth knew there were more issues to discuss in regards to that group he spent a few days with, she took his change of topic and tone as confirmation of her suspicions—that he wasn't ready to go there just yet.

"I didn't see her till we got stuck in the train car," he started, drawing in Beth's acute attention and forcing her to remember that Daryl was discussing Maggie. "She was there, with Glenn and the others," he started and Beth was happy to see that he wasn't shying away from looking at her completely. He still resorted to alternating some of his glances, but that was to be expected when he discussed things that made him uncomfortable. It helped prepare her for what could possibly be coming.

"Had a fight…still pis—_mad_ at her."

"What happened?" Beth asked, her tone even despite the rampant curiosity coursing through her, a curiosity that even served to draw her attention from his correction in cursing.

"She tells us that after the fall, she didn't do nothin' but look for her precious pretty boy husband. Didn't even mention your name in her fuc—_freaking_ notes. So I told her ya were a hundred times the woman she is, told her that from the second the prison fell, ya set yourself to finding her, finding all of 'em. Told her ya kept my ass movin', worried about the little 'ens, while she was just selfishly running 'bout, lookin' for her husband."

He stopped and looked away from her, shaking his head angrily. Beth tried her best to keep up with him, but he was talking very quickly and she was a bit emotionally exhausted, causing a distinct delay in the process. The words sunk in, though, as he sat stewing in silence.

Before she could move forward with processing and perceiving, he continued. "And I'm sorry," he said, his tone almost pouty. "I shouldn'ta made that stand; it wasn't mine ta make. But I just couldn'ta helped it. I just got so angry, 'specially since I thought about what ya said—'bout how you'd'a went for Maggie. Just…couldn't stand by and let her not know how you'd'a felt if you were there."

Her heart broke at his words—over both the fact that Maggie had evidentially forgotten her—or, perhaps, her insecurities whispered, she hadn't thought her own sister had the skills to survive and had, therefore, just assumed she would be long dead in the wake of the attack—and that he seemed to feel so guilty over the actions he had taken on her behalf.

On the issue of Maggie, her insides chilled at the thought, for several reasons. She had known, clear as day, that her sister would make moving for Glenn her top priority. That did not, however, mean that she had believed her sister wouldn't bother even concerning herself in a search for her only remaining blood on the planet.

There was a line there, in Beth's opinion; she knew not everyone would be as driven to reunite the entire group as she had been—she had needed to be, to keep her own sanity, as well as Daryl's, in check—but she had assumed, at the very least, her own sister would make finding her, not a top priority, but, at the very least, an item of interest.

There were other issues to contend with here too, most import of which was that even her own sister seemed to underestimate her, just as her father had and just as several others in their group seemed to still believe to this very day. If her sister hadn't had faith in her ability to survive, her ability to make it in this world, who would? If even Maggie believed her fate was sealed after the conflict at the prison, had any of the others spared a thought for finding her, spared a moment to have faith that she could've somehow managed to survive the fray?

But things were different now, weren't they? _She _had tracked _them _down, not the other way around.

She didn't care, she suddenly resolved. The opinion of others had rarely swayed her previously, unless she had been shown to be in the wrong. She had, as Daryl had noted, managed the motivation to not only look for her own sister, but for the others as well.

Beth hadn't engaged in that search in the hope of some return benefit. She didn't seek to have them search in return; she looked because she knew it was in the best interest of the others, especially for Daryl—he needed that mission, that motive, that task to keep him moving, just as she needed the little ones to care for, to provide her purpose and facilitate a contribution she could make to the group.

No, it wasn't for them. She knew that she could handle herself and, if Daryl's argument was to indicate anything, it was clear he did too. The others—she could show, with time. But, for now, that would certainly suffice.

Plus, she reminded herself, he had been right. She had said that Maggie would go for Glenn. Did that mean that the fact that it had proven true had hurt any less? No, not necessarily. But it meant that the action wasn't necessarily wholly unexpected.

As for Daryl, she could practically feel the regret pouring off of him, even as he continued to shake his head.

"Didn't mean ta, just got a bit carried away," he said again, eyes meeting hers briefly. "My damn—"

"Daryl," she started with a smile, which only brightened when his surprised eyes met hers. "I really appreciate every single word you spoke in my defense. They were—_You_ said some very kind things and, for that, I could never really be mad at you. Had I been there," she continued, as she looked once more to the wrung hands in her lap. "I would've wanted to make that stand, even if I would've struggled to do it on my own. And, for that, I am very grateful that you were able to do it for me, since I couldn't even be there to try."

Silence hit them again, as Daryl settled for merely nodding in response. Normally, she would've worried that he clung to that guilt, but, when he met her eyes, she didn't see it there. It made her smile even more.

Beth contemplated then issuing the question and her corresponding confession that had burned within her from the moment they had been jarred from their kitchen at the funeral home. While she lie waiting for sleep to claim her at night, she had considered reissuing the question of what had changed his mind; she had thought she would need a confession, a definitive answer—would need him to _say_ it—in order for her to say it in return.

But, as she sat here, watching him alternate looks between her and his lap just as he had at their funeral home, she realized the entire exchange was completely unnecessary. She had known her feelings and his answer from that very evening—_oh_, she thought, as she recalled her surprise with a smile. It had been a pleasant surprise, especially considering she knew how hard it must've been for him to be as explicit as he had been up to that point; it was no secret that he was not a fan of words.

No, she thought, she would never put him in that position—to demand a confession from him and force one of her own forward that would only serve to appease her now non-existent curiosity and increase his level of discomfort. It wasn't needed—she knew what he had to confess and she believed he was now assured in her return as well.

Partially out of awkwardness, she suspected, his hand rose to examine her throat again, drawing her from her thoughts. The move also served as confirmation of the confession at hand for her; if her time in reflection had taught her anything, it was that his physical actions, his need to reach out and touch her, spoke volumes for him—made his confessions for him.

If he was reaching out for her with barely even a blush present, he was not only confessing his comfort level and feelings for her, but his assurance that she would not recoil from his actions. His fingers brushing against the barely felt knick in her skin made her laugh a bit, as she reached up out of reflex to grip his wrist and pull it slowly from over studying the injury.

"I'm _fine_," she emphasized as she leaned in, her hand still on his wrist.

She watched his eyes take in her hand on his before his they came up to meet hers. Again, there was no recoiling on either of their parts; it seemed, to her, that it served to confirm his suspicions on the confession she had come here to make. "Any other injuries I need ta know 'bout?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, confusion evident on her face and in her tone.

"He didn't hurt ya, did he? 'Cause I'll kill him if he did."

"No," she said, making sure to give him a very stern look at his threat, although she suspected it may have been at least partially empty; it was also, however, inherently partially true—there was clearly no love lost between the two, of that she was certain. "Other than that first slip up with putting me in the car, he hasn't hurt me one bit.

"Actually," she started again, her smile coming back. "I've taught him quite a bit in our time together. Have you to thank for that." If she didn't know any better, she'd say he was blushing, as he looked back down to the ground, still sitting in his silence.

Despite having no desire to really think more on the issue for the evening, the details of his conflict with Maggie lingered in the back of her mind. They ran rampant and pressed further upon her existing exhaustion, causing her attention to be split, between rethinking the conflict and drawing direct remark to her fatigue. Without really meaning to, Beth's eyes wandered back over to his makeshift pillow, as she felt her eyes droop further with the pressure of her lethargy.

Previously, she had assumed she would've stayed with her sister and Glenn in the evenings. Now, with knowing everything that had happened, everything that had been said on the matter in her absence, she wasn't so sure that was what she truly wanted.

In truth, she still felt rather burned by her sister's lack of caring or conviction in her comb through the areas surrounding the fallen prison, although she would admit that she was ashamed to feel so. Regardless of her reluctance to embrace her own issues on the matter, she knew that what she needed from Maggie now was a bit of space, to process her thoughts in a way that would allow for a logical discussion at some point down the road. That would mean, however, that, for some time, her sister's tent would not afford a proper place for peaceful protection through the long evenings to come on the road.

Suddenly, with her eyes still set to that makeshift pillow, a solution presented itself. The very thought of it had her teeth lowering to latch on to her lower lip; approaching him at the start of the evening was one thing, proposing this was a whole other issue, one she would need to gather her strength to suggest.

"Um, I—I just…" she trailed off, her eyes falling to her lap again as she released his hand to run hers nervously through her hair. _This_ was why she never wore it down, she recalled distractedly.

"Is there any chance that I could—" she cut herself off to stutter once or twice, before moving her eyes to his. The curiosity there—and the complete and utter lack of disgust or suspicion—gave her another push, increasing her zeal in issuing her request. It's _Daryl_, she reminded herself; she tried to picture this situation differently—as if they still remained in their funeral home. Suddenly, the question came from her with ease. "Could I stay here tonight? W—w—with you?"

Daryl was surprised and, if the evidence afforded by his eyes and the burning spots on his cheeks were to be taken to mean anything, embarrassed. As much as she hated to admit it, seeing that he was affected by this topic served to comfort her on some level; at least if they were both shy and awkward, they could suffer through it together.

He didn't meet her eyes as he simply nodded his head two or three times and settled back in towards his pillow. As if he had forgotten something, he jerked to a stop and dug through his bag. Fear struck Beth; would he try to kick her out? Would he throw something at her and demand she leave?

No, she thought. That just wasn't like him. Not now. Not anymore. Not with her.

"I—ah—found this," he said as he brought her bag out and put it on the floor in front of her.

She gasped at the sight of it, as she remembered that her very few worldly possessions always resided within this bag. She hadn't really shed a thought for it in the last few days, as she focused more on finding her way back to him. But, now, sitting in front of her, it looked like a sight for sore eyes; still not nearly as much so as Daryl, but important nonetheless.

"You _found _it," she said with a bright smile as she ran a hand over it. She had suspected, of course, but she didn't dare assume that he had managed to grab this in his hurry.

"Didn't go through it," he added, almost as if he felt the need to reassure her. But it wasn't needed; she trusted him. Besides, she thought, after their time spent together on the road, there was hardly an item in here that wasn't related to all that she had already shared with him.

"Thank you," she said, after giving him a silly dismissive smile at his issued disclaimer. "I can't believe you thought of this."

Daryl shrugged and the familiarity of it almost made her laugh. "Managed to grab it before I took off runnin'."

"How long?" she asked, after only a moment's hesitation. It was a question that had plagued her since she had followed his tracks away from the crossroads. That trip would've taken quite a bit of time when travelling by car. Butby_ foot_? She couldn't even imagine.

"Ran after ya all night, inta the next day," he said, talking to his shoes. That blush returned again. She was really starting to enjoy seeing it there—it made him look innocent in some way, less touched by the horrors of this world.

Beth reached out once more and pressed her hand to his chin, forcing him to look at her, although he seemed less than eager at the prospect.

"_Thank you_," she whispered, certainly feeling tears spring to her eyes this time. The two words were too small, too casual. But she didn't know what else to give him; she wished she could give him so much more, but she just didn't have the slightest idea how to go about it. "I can't even begin to tell you how much—"

"Don't," he started, that smirk on his face. She decided she quite liked that too. "It's just what family does," he said.

With a nod, she shifted to remove her shoes and lie down, placing her head on his pillow in the process. Her eyes followed him as, after a few moments, he moved to follow her actions.

Beth kept her eyes open as long as she could, watching him watch her. Without even realizing what she was doing, she began to hum the same song she had played for him, in their time spent at the funeral home. He didn't even try to pretend he minded; no joke about the jukebox was issued. It pushed her to continue, for as long as she could.

But, with time, the pull of exhaustion and the comfort of being back with him pulled her under, but not before lyrics slipped from her lips "…and we'll be good."


	22. Changes

**I'm so grateful for the incredible reviews and feedback I received for the last chapter! I cannot believe the sheer volume of response! Thank you so much to those of you who continue to read, even twenty-two rather lengthy chapters down the line :-)**

**To my Brazilian reviewer—as always, your reviews meant so very much to me! I'm so glad that the reunion met your expectations and that it didn't disappoint! I hope that the future interactions with Carol and Maggie also serve to live up to your high praise, and that you are satisfied with the results of this chapter. Please know that I think your statement that my story makes you happy is some of the very best praise a writer can ever receive. In all honesty, it is I who am so utterly grateful to you, for your time and dedication to this story and me :-)**

**In regards to this chapter, I'd like to say that, thanks to the amazing reviews and feedback I've received over the course of this story, the length of this chapter has increased from the original nine pages to now being over twenty. What can I say? I have amazing followers who love to discuss characters and opinions and I just couldn't help but contribute some of our conclusions to the content of this chapter. **

**That being said, I must caution you to soak up the text while it lasts. This story is coming to a close, with only two remaining chapters left. However, it should be noted, ideas for a sequel have already been discussed with one reviewer. I definitely have some thoughts but, as you can imagine, creating a work that is now literally over three hundred and thirty pages requires a lot of time, thought and dedication. I will, of course, see what I can do :-)**

It was almost as if her body was ready to be attuned to Judith's needs automatically, just from spending a few hours with her the night before.

When she woke up, Daryl was gone, but she had expected that to be the case. He was never one for sleeping in; although, she thought, as she saw barely any light shed on the outside of the tent, before the turn, this certainly wouldn't have been considered sleeping in.

As such fumbled her way sluggishly out of the tent, she cast a glance around and realized that many people—even now—apparently didn't think of this as sleeping in; she was one of very few who were up and moving, as far as she could tell.

She wandered her way towards the fire and saw that it was already started for the day. Looking around to see who could've lit it, she was unsurprised to find Daryl and Rick having an intense conversation a little ways off.

Within moments of her hitting their makeshift fire pit, Judith started to cry. Beth saw Rick snap into alert, but she stilled him with one raised hand. Daryl's eyes, she noticed, quickly met her as a smirk overtook his face. She felt her brightest smile claim hers, as she recalled saying that she wouldn't mind an early morning wake up call via crying—and she realized she truly didn't mind in the slightest.

"May I come in?" Beth asked quietly, knowing that Carl was probably still half asleep in the tent.

He muttered a small response that seemed to say that it was acceptable for her to enter. She quickly rushed in and picked Judith up from the box that served as the makeshift cradle she slept in. Quickly she grabbed up some of the powdered milk that resided next to the crib, as she balanced little baby Judith on her hip.

Beth ducked out of the tent and zipped it closed behind her. She started bouncing Little Ass Kicker and managed to stop the cries within moments.

"Oh," she heard from in front of her, drawing her eyes from Little Ass Kicker.

When she looked up, her eyes found Carol staring at her in confusion, as she alternated looks from Beth to Judith.

"I was comin' to get her."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, a small smile on her face as her voice suddenly softened in her shyness. "I guess I'm just used to caring for her," she said with a laugh.

"Me too," Carol bit out, forcing Beth's smile to drop. Her previous comment had been intended as something of a mildly sad and off handed comment addressed with nostalgia, as that was how Beth couldn't help but think of their time spent in the prison. Carol, on the other hand, seemed angry—as if she felt like Judith was now her responsibility.

Beth had been Judith's main caregiver at the prison, but she had never told herself that it was her sole responsibility and obligation. For starters, taking care of Judith was an honor to Beth—she delighted in it. Neither had she ever been so narrow-minded as to assume she and she alone cared for Judith; it was a communal effort.

But it would appear, after her time on the road with Little Ass Kicker, Carol no longer saw it as any form of a community responsibility.

"I had thought—" she started as she felt her cheeks burning from embarrassment. She tried to think what Daryl would do in this situation, other than get irrationally angry and territorial. Anger was one thing, she thought, but it needed to be kept in check. "I just thought you may want a break for a while," she said, as she forced her eyes up to meet Carol's.

Carol didn't look pleased with her response, although Beth thought she had done a good job of managing to make a stand for herself while not being rude. It would appear, however, that Carol didn't feel the same way.

Just as Carol gasp to respond, Daryl was suddenly at Beth's elbow, poking Judith in the belly. Despite the worry she still felt about Carol and her apparent belief that she had been somehow mistreated, Beth couldn't resist the pull of a smile at her lips.

"Mornin', Lil' Ass Kicker," he greeted with another poke to Judith's tummy, which made her giggle in delight. "Big Ass Kicker," he added quietly as he gave Beth a smirk.

She felt another blush on her cheeks at his comment. It was so utterly unexpected that she found she had absolutely no idea what to say in response. She gave him her brightest smile, as it had already sprung forth at his comment, and felt herself leaning into him a bit more.

When no response appropriate to share in front of their present company came to her, she turned back to Carol, hoping to resolve the issue at hand. Carol's eyes shifted between the three of them and Beth saw nothing necessarily friendly there.

She could recall a time when she had thought Carol might have some form of feelings for Daryl. When they had been on the road last and when they had first settled into the prison, she had often wondered if Carol felt something beyond the realms of friendship for the resident redneck.

But, through observation, she had deciphered that, if Daryl even knew about the feelings, he didn't seem to return him. Knowing what she did of his disposition, she strongly believed he might suspect how Carol felt, but that he certainly hadn't returned anything along those lines.

The way Daryl talked to her and Carol was just…inherently _different_, she noted. She remembered her thought process shortly before she made her first stand outside their moonshine shack; she had specifically thought that he didn't need Carol in that moment, staying by his side no matter what and taking all the abuse he had to hand out. Daryl had needed _her_—someone who was going to demand that they be treated with respect, no matter what the other person thought of them.

That had changed things. She was no longer Maggie's little sister, or some girl who just survived by chance. She was the equal of Carol and Maggie and the others—beyond that, she thought, as she remembered that she had stood up to him in ways that Carol never really had.

As she watched Carol's eyes linger on his face, she caught a glimpse of the woman who had first showed up on their farm, riding on the back of his motorcycle. She looked innocent, sweet, almost naïve.

But the second her eyes wandered back to Judith and Beth, that was all closed off, willed away and replaced by a hard quality—a determination that she knew what was right, even if it wasn't the popular opinion.

"I truly am sorry, Carol," she started, knowing it would be interpreted as her interception in the collection of Judith. But she meant it on a deeper level too—an apology from the bottom of her gut for the change this world had brought on her, a desire that this world wouldn't rip such humanity from a woman who was once so kind and sweet. "I hadn't known you were comin' to get her. Just a habit, I suppose," she said, with one rough laugh. "She starts cryin', I come runnin'."

Carol nodded once as she averted her eyes to the ground. Beth couldn't be sure, but she thought she might have seen a bit of kindness there, if only for a second.

"I know you've been takin' care of her for a while. Would you like a break?"

"I don't wanna—"

"It wouldn't be an imposition," Beth interrupted with a smile and an encouraging nod. "It would be a pleasure, really," she said as her eyes went to Judith and her finger did some tickling of its own. Behind Little Ass Kicker, Beth could see that Daryl's eyes were glued to them; she was surprised to find that he appeared to only have eyes for her and baby Judith, as he nearly blatantly ignored Carol.

In that moment, Beth couldn't deny that she felt a pang of sympathy for Carol, who had obviously made assumptions and gotten her hopes up over the years. Beth had been in that position before, before the turn. She recalled the keen sting and just how horrible it could make you feel. She wouldn't really wish it on anyone.

When Carol managed a nod, Beth felt a rush of relief. If there was nothing else she could do to alleviate this awkward situation she had somehow found herself in, she could at least carry this little bit of weight. As Carol moved to walk past her, she patted Judith on the back and gave her a single kiss to the head.

Carol did nothing else to acknowledge her as she walked off in the opposite direction. Beth tried to follow her with her eyes for as long as she could, before she swung back around to find Daryl looking at Judith.

"I'm gonna feed her," Beth announced, feeling awkward at the prospect of being alone with him again and not knowing what else to say.

Daryl nodded, his eyes still on little baby Judith. It made Beth smile just to see it. "I'll grab us some of the canned fruit we swiped from the Wal-Mart," he responded, his eyes coming up to meet hers.

With a nod and a grateful smile, they separated. Beth set about preparing a bottle for Judith and managed to just finish the preparation and take a seat by the fireside as Daryl found her, two opened cans in hand.

Words weren't needed as Beth started feeding Judith and Daryl set her can to rest by his leg on the ground. Daryl dug into his fruit, but she could feel him watching her out of the corner of his eyes. She didn't mind, as she sang quietly to a very calm and feeding Judith.

As soon as Daryl had finished his can of fruit, he reached his arms out for his Little Ass Kicker, causing a bright smile to overtake Beth's face once again. Judith had just about finished her bottle, but hadn't quite gotten there yet. Carefully, Beth handed her over and started in on her own breakfast as she took her turn to watch Daryl care for Judith.

Once the three of them had all eaten and Judith was taken care of and content, Daryl continued to hold Little Ass Kicker, all the while Beth took in the sight of the pair of them; it was clear he had missed caring for Judith just as much as she had. A peaceful silence filled them as they each kept their eye on Judith, even as other members of their family got up and joined them by the fire to eat a solemn breakfast.

Beth hadn't even stirred when she sensed her sister slide into place on the ground next to her. As soon as she felt a familiar presence in the place beside her, she knew instantly who it had to be, without even taking her eyes off of Little Ass Kicker. Unwittingly, her eyes rose then to meet Daryl's, which she was unsurprised to find already resting on her.

She took in the sight of him—his deepened and concentrated breathing, the anger erupting from his eyes—and she knew that he was barely containing his temper. For the smallest of moments, she placed her hand on his arm, just as she had the previous night in his potential confrontation with Father Gabriel. Beth saw the affect almost instantaneously, as his eyes lowered to her hand and his breathing returned to a much more natural pace.

"Bethy?" Maggie's voice found her and she knew she could wait no longer to suffer through this experience.

She turned to meet the eyes of her sister, doing her best to regulate her own reactions and reflections upon her expression. In truth, she hadn't really had enough time to process this matter; confronting it now left her worried that it would not be handled rationally. It was for this very reason that she had elected to avoid Maggie and Glenn's tent the previous night. But, perhaps, she thought, her sister hadn't been able to perceive her intended meaning behind her absence from the previous night.

For perhaps the first time ever, her mind drew a blank. She prided herself on her ability to comfort others—knowing precisely what to say to offer support, hope and light to whoever the subject may be.

But, now, facing down this particular subject and topic, she couldn't help but think she just wasn't ready—wasn't prepared to provide comfort of any measure to Maggie, to support her in her decision to make Glenn her only priority—because she had yet to have sufficient time to truly come to terms with it herself.

If her instincts were correct, and Maggie had approached her on the specific aim of breaching this affair, it would undoubtedly go incredibly badly. She knew what the Beth of old would do—the same Beth who had cowered in her bedroom for weeks on end, ashamed of her actions and the resulting slit and scar on her wrist. The Beth first introduced at the farm would surrender, would be the very picture of compassion and understanding. She would readily forgive her sister, knowing that the absolution would come with time, if it hadn't already.

But as Beth chanced a glance to Daryl, and recalled what he had taught her—that she was worthy of attention, worthy of promotion, worthy of fighting for, worthy of stirring her own fight—she knew that just wasn't how she could move forward in this situation at this juncture; if Maggie insisted on approaching this argument right now, it had the potential to be just that—an argument.

But she would not be cruel or selfish; she would not make this solely about her, just as her sister had. Beth hadn't been the only one to be left woefully unaddressed in her sister's quest; their entire family had been conveniently pushed aside. That, she supposed, was her largest contention with the matter.

"I'm so glad to have you back," Maggie started, her tone far more wary than Beth had heard it be for quite some time. From her left, she heard a very distinct scoff uttered from Daryl.

Maggie, in turn, glared at him. If looks could kill, Beth suspected this might have done the trick. Beth did her best to push past the interaction, not quite ready to tackle Daryl's component in this situation.

"I'm glad to see you too," she said, with a nod to confirm that she was very much speaking the truth. "I'm so glad to see everyone, really," she added as she took a look around the fire, once again basking in the sheer luck of having her entire family returned to her relatively unharmed. "And I'm relieved that you managed to find Glenn, even if your search obviously caused some upset."

Maggie immediately turned another glare to Daryl, as she concluded that he had, in fact, shared the true story of their reunion with her.

"I would've looked for you, but…" she trailed off and Beth knew immediately from her hesitation that she had no response, no justification for her behavior. It pained her to see her sister behave in such a way; it hurt her to think of what their daddy would say if he were here to witness it first hand.

"But?" she picked up, her voice still soft, even as her intrigue and frustration battled internally for dominance. Part of her knew it was cruel to pick up a trail of thought that had obviously been abandoned by the speaker for lack of further thought on the matter; but, even more so, she sought to have some reasoning, some justification from her sister as to how she could be so cavalier in the care of the other members of their family.

"When I found the bus, I just thought…" she trailed off once again; Beth heard Daryl release a deep breath and knew, almost instantly, that this had been part of Maggie's original defense of her actions.

"You assumed I hadn't made it. So you settled with Glenn as your only priority," Beth finished for her, knowing that was truly what she had been thinking, even if she couldn't bring herself to say it; it was clear as day for her.

Maggie looked to her shoes, obviously seeking to avoid Beth's eyes, which had refused to leave her thus far in the interaction. Glenn came to sit at her side, can of fruit in hand, causing Maggie's eyes to meet his instinctually. He spared one nod of greeting for Beth before looking back to Maggie; he stopped chewing mid-bite, as he seemed to gather through body language that things were not within the status quo at the moment.

"I understand that," she started, even though she heard Daryl stir with displeasure next to her. "From the sounds of it, the bus was pretty tattered by the time you reached it," she continued. Her words prompted a nod from Maggie and a slight smile, as she seemed to issue another assumption—that all was now set right between them again.

"However," she carried on, her hands wrapping anxiously around her calves. She had stood up to her sister on several occasions in the past—particularly on the issue of Merle; but, regardless of the number of occurrences, the task never became easier. "I got off the bus—left to return to the prison, to try to find the _kids_, to get them to safety," she finished, her eyes coming up in the hopes that they could drive her point home.

"You always were great at looking after them—"

"I suppose that's why the responsibility of searching for them fell solely to my lap and not yours," she said, an edge to her voice, but it was not cruel.

"I had to find Glenn—"

"As I said, that's understandable. But to not even mention me in your signs? To not even mention any of the others?" she said, her tone quiet, yet shaky; she simply refused to yell—that was Maggie's choice in default position, she noted—refused to lower herself to the immaturity of making a scene to produce results.

"I signed it with my name. Anyone who found it would know it was me, Bob and Sasha; they'd know to follow us to Terminus," her sister responded, her voice already becoming raised.

"Yes, that is true," she responded, making sure to hold her own volume steady. "But can you imagine being the one to find that sign? Can you imagine having concrete evidence in front of you that you are insufficient, not important enough to stir even the smallest of thoughts in a search?"

"I didn't mean to—"

"Can you imagine it, Maggie?" she interrupted, cutting off Maggie's anger infused response with her own calm tone. "Can you imagine finding a sign from me that specifically failed to mention you?"

Maggie remained silent for several seconds as she shook her head in disbelief and brought her eyes back to rest on her shoes. A scoff was released and Beth realized she had just about heard enough.

"Can you imagine it?" she repeated, her voice quieter, edgier, stronger. "No, I don't imagine you can," she answered for her, when her sister continued to hold her obviously restrained silence. "It's unimaginable to you—that I could do something so cruel, so selfish, as to ignore the wellbeing of our entire family in such a way. Perhaps, if you reflect on that, you'll comprehend a fraction of the confusion I'm currently contending with. Perhaps, then, you'll understand why I don't quite trust myself to discuss this just yet."

"Did Daryl tell you—" she started to yell, immediately drawing an incredible amount of unwanted attention. Inadvertently, she felt her cheeks flush in an instant.

"Daryl told me of the argument, yes," she interrupted, both in the hopes that she could put an end to the squawking that was drawing in an immeasurable amount of attention and that she could cut the notion she suspected her sister was attempting to convey off at the knees. "But he didn't persuade me any further than that; he didn't lead me here, to making my own stand against you. I came to that conclusion all on my own."

"You think it was okay, what he did?" she asked, her voice slightly quieter, yet not nearly as reticent as she had been hoping for. She heard nothing from Daryl next to her and knew, with a smile, that he was leaving this one to her; he had the trust in her to see her stand through.

"I think he was angry at the way you had treated not only me, but our entire family after the fall of the prison. I think he was frustrated with his lack of control over the Father Gabriel situation; he had lost me without being able to do anything to stop it, and yet you had done nothing to search for me, when you had every power to do so—"

"_You _think it was okay for him to be so cruel to me?" Maggie whispered and, although it was clearly even angrier in tone than her yelling was, Beth was relieved for the reprieve.

"I think he has a mind of his own. I think he has good instincts that have yet to truly fail him. I think if he took issue with your priorities after the fall of the prison, it is fully in his right to address them," she paused as her eyes wandered over Maggie's face.

"You have a habit of this, Maggie," she started once again. "Remember? When you and Glenn first got together? You argued with him, basically told him what he was and wasn't allowed to feel in regards to you. It wasn't right of you to do it to him, just as it wouldn't be right of me to make that mandate to Daryl. Nor is it fair for you to consider asking me to."

Maggie seemed to come to a conclusion, then, as her eyes wandered over Beth's face. She couldn't be quite certain, but she thought that perhaps Maggie was realizing the inherent distinct differences in their dispositions. It seemed perplexing to her, as Beth watched her sister continue to study her face, a look of deep disorientation on her own.

"We all have jobs to do," she said, looking to pay respects to her father—the man who had seen to instilling those very specific characteristics upon her, through the amazing example he worked to provide tirelessly, day after day.

She knew, then, that this would be her final word on the matter. "Mine was to search for you—the only blood relative I have left on the plant. Mine was to search for the entire group, to set to finding the children so I could rest assured that they were cared for. What job were you fulfilling for the greater good of the group, Maggie?"

Her eyes lingered on her sister only for a moment longer, as the sudden prompting of an elbow braced against her thigh jolted her attention once more. She turned to find Daryl very close to her, Judith still in hand, as he nudged a nod towards an approaching Rick.

In the time it took the Sheriff to approach, Daryl's arm lingered near her leg as a smirk overtook his expression. His eyes adamantly stayed glued to her, in what Beth suspected was a stubborn refusal to acknowledge Maggie out of sheer spite. While she wished he wouldn't be quite so vengeful, she did feel the affect of his obvious pride in her stand tugging at her own mood, prompting a return smile of her own. She had done everything within her power in the issue of Maggie; she refused to continue to fester over the conflict. Peace would come…in time.

As soon as Rick stood at the front of the group, Daryl's eyes readjusted their focus. He handed off Little Ass Kicker to the still very eager Rick, only to settle back down at her side, his attention now fully focused on the Sheriff. She wasn't fooled though; she saw through his expression to find that knowing look that seemed to indicate that whatever was about to be announced had obviously been discussed this morning between the two.

"We'll be startin' to make our way north," he said, nodding in the direction of Abraham and Eugene. "Eugene says he knows how to fix this mess, so we'll take it on his good faith that he can do it, if we get him to the right people."

Rick's wording caused Beth to tilt her head to the side a bit and run a look over to Daryl. She suspected they might have discussed the validity in Eugene's claim that he knew what had happened and what needed to be done to fix it.

"Since we'll be spendin' another winter on the road," he started and Beth felt her breath leave her at the thought. But, she reminded herself, she had done it before and she could do it again, especially since she was now much better prepared. "Daryl and I think it for the best that we spend the day making a last round of runs."

Abraham immediately started stuttering protests. There was something about him—his tone and his topics of conversation were always so serious and official and, yet, Beth found herself biting her lip to keep from chuckling every time he spoke.

It wasn't that she didn't respect him, or his mission and his dedication to see it through; on the contrary, she thought it was very inspiring the way he looked after Eugene and that he thought his mission superseded any and every other trivial thing they had thrown at him. Beth didn't know if she could do it, but she respected that he could and that he had made it thus far on sheer drive alone.

"We'll need supplies, if we're to not only make it out here, but head towards colder climates," Rick interrupted with a gentle hand held in surrender. "Even you must see that," he insisted and, after a few moments, Abraham nodded.

"Tomorrow though?"

"Tomorrow for sure. I just want to give us one last day to gather some supplies, anything and everything—coats, layers, blankets, anything you think can help keep us warm this winter.

"We'll be goin' in pairs," Rick continued. "You'll look mostly for yourself but, should you see somethin' you think someone else could get good use of, grab it as well."

"I want to go with you," she leaned in and whispered to Daryl.

His eyes immediately met hers as he swung his head around to look at her. "Already took care'a it," he responded and Beth couldn't help but smile in response.

:::~:::

It had been decided that Bob, Sasha, Rosita and Tara would stay behind to hold watch on the camp. The others were talking it over now, figuring out where everyone would go.

But he and Beth had the clear and were already packing up weapons to head out.

"Why aren't we over there arguin' with the others?" she asked, and he could almost hear the smile in her voice as he slung his bow over his shoulders.

"Told Rick this morning where I wanna go."

"It's good to be in with the leader," she said and this time he heard her flat out laugh.

He didn't respond as he nodded and met her eyes to check her over and make sure she had all of her weapons. Daryl thought she looked just about as ready as she could, but he figured he'd ask, just to be safe.

"Ya ready?"

"I think so," she said with a sigh as she patted down her knife on her belt and the boot she kept a hidden one in.

As they made their way forward, Daryl could've sworn he felt eyes on him. He suspected it could be either Carol or Maggie—or both, for all he knew; he didn't look back, too afraid to confront who ever might be trying to berate him but didn't have the guts to actually say something.

Daryl wasn't one to spend a ton of time with the others, but, after the interactions he had experienced this morning alone, he knew things were a bit tense around the camp. The confrontation between Carol and Beth this morning had been strange. It had seemed that there was more at stake than who took hold of Little Ass Kicker, but he couldn't be sure what. He knew Beth knew though; one look at her told him she read through Carol just as easily as she read through everyone else.

And, if it were possible, Maggie approaching his littlest Greene this morning had only aggravated him more, worked to lower his opinion of her even further. Sure, he could respect that Maggie had taken the initiative—tackled the topic head on. But she had obviously come unprepared, not ready for Beth to fight back, to give just as good as she got.

He had managed to hold his peace on it, though, as he sat back and watched Beth take the matter into her own hands. He was proud of her, if he were to be honest. Proud of himself too, for not jumping down Maggie's throat the second she had even dared to approach them.

Daryl wasn't subtle; it just wasn't really in his nature. He'd yell and scream, anything to draw attention away from the pressing of his insecurities. And Beth had been nothing but an insecurity, before she had come tumbling out of that line of trees. He had worried he'd never see her again, never have a read on how she had felt after their conversation at the kitchen in the funeral home.

So, of course, in true Dixon fashion, he had let his anger run away from him, ripped Maggie a new one to tell her how horrible of a sister she was to draw attention off of how horrible he was for losing her in the first place. It had worked, at first, but now he wasn't so sure. He thought maybe Maggie suspected there was something going on.

He didn't really blame her, if she did. There were rarely any moments when he wasn't right at Beth's elbow. Even when he couldn't stand right next to her for some reason, his eyes were constantly looking for her. He could say it was just out of paranoia that he would fail to protect her again, but he knew that wasn't true. He suspected Beth knew that wasn't the case either. He hoped she knew, anyway. She seemed to have a grasp on the concept the night before, he reminded himself.

But with the others, he figured they could think whatever the hell they wanted. If they wanted to assume he was paranoid into overprotecting her, so be it. If they suspected it was something more, as long as they didn't make it an issue for him, they could think whatever the hell they wanted, as far as he was concerned.

Losing Beth had given him a bit of perspective. He didn't really care how the others felt about it—that they might think he was too old, she too young, the situation too twisted, too ridiculous, whatever—just how Beth felt about it.

He thought he had a pretty good idea on that, but he wasn't absolutely certain. The lack of a solid answer had his insecurities whispering out to him again, but he told them to shove it. He wasn't gonna rush this and risk losing it.

"Where are we going?" she asked from beside him as they exited the clearing.

"Wal-Mart we paid a visit to yesterday."

"Why do you wanna go back?" she asked, her eyes taking in his face.

"Decent supply of weapons left," he responded, settling his hand on his crossbow. "Need to have'a second look."

"Will any of the others be going to the Wal-Mart too?" she asked and he could've sworn he saw her bite her lip and look shyly to the ground. The question intrigued him; he couldn't see why she'd ask it.

"Nah, Rick wants us to spread out, try ta get a variety of things."

Again, he couldn't be sure, but he thought he spotted a smile on her face out of the corner of his eyes. "I wanna try to find something better for Judith to sleep in. Nothing too intense, of course—something hopefully portable that'll travel well."

Her comment had him almost smiling, because it was just so _Beth_—caring for someone who wasn't even related to her. Daryl lowered his eyes to the ground again, as he struggled to fill the silence. "Good ta see ya with her again."

"I've missed caring for her very much." This time he could clearly hear the smile in her voice.

"Everything okay with Carol this mornin'?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Yes," she responded with a soft sigh. "I think she feels…undervalued," Beth finished, after a moment of thinking.

"What'd'a mean?"

"I just get the sense that she doesn't feel very appreciated. I think she believed Judith would be her responsibility when we all got back together."

"Why would she think that?" Daryl said, his eyes coming up to meet hers as he unintentionally bit out his words a bit stronger than he had intended to. "You was always the one to take care of Lil' Ass Kicker in the prison days."

"I did care for her a lot," Beth started, with a nod. "But I wasn't the only one," she said with a soft smile. "I guess she just figured, since she had taken care of her since the fall of the prison, that it would be easier to carry on like that."

Daryl couldn't help but think maybe Carol had assumed Beth wouldn't be with them when they all got together. It made him bite against the inside of his cheek to keep from grumbling in complaint. Why the hell did they all seem to count her out? It made him want a cigarette.

One look at her and he thought she might be having the same doubts in her own head. He knew then that, despite the fact that she was so strong and had more than proven herself to him, she feared she still had a long way to go on the road to proving it to the others.

He debated waiting her out, seeing if she would bring the issue up herself. But part of him wanted to tell her that he thought he knew what she was thinking—wanted to show her that she had taught him just as many things as he had taught her.

"She's wrong," he said, his hands fidgeting as he made the decision that he would definitely seek out some cigarettes when they got to the Wal-Mart. "If she made the decision that she'd be carin' for Lil' Ass Kicker because ya weren't gonna be there—weren't gonna make it—then she was wrong and ya proved it to her."

Daryl, despite the discomfort it caused him, forced himself to keep his eyes on hers as they emerged from the forest to hit the same highway they had stumbled off of the previous night. He saw her blush again as she released a sweet laugh, a smile and bit her lips in the process of looking down at the ground again. A smile of his own was released, as he couldn't help but think that he had maybe got his message through loud and clear for a change.

"I don't think that's all of it though," she responded, her voice quiet and shy. It instantly made him wonder what she had to say, as their eyes worked to meet once again. "I think she had maybe gotten it into her head that…" Beth trailed off, as she seemed to struggle with how she wanted to phrase something. He found himself leaning in, growing only more eager to hear what she had to say on the Carol issue.

Daryl had his own thoughts on the matter—very strong, opinionated thoughts that he didn't think she was necessarily likely to have. He wanted to hear her take on the person Carol had become, to see how she would handle this new version of her.

Beth sighed again, drawing his attention back once more. "I think she honestly feels very judged by the decisions she's made in her past," she started and, although Daryl could tell she wasn't done, his voice starting pouring forth before he could even try to stop it.

"She should be," he said, his tone holding that distinct bite that it always seemed to have in regards to Carol lately. "First Karen and David. Now Lizzie."

"How do you feel about that?" she took her turn to interrupt, her eyes coming directly back to his. He could practically feel the curiosity oozing out of them.

"Don't know," he started with a shrug, his temper fading a bit. "Part of me thinks she wouldn't'a done it if she didn't have'ta. But, then, I remember—with Karen and David. That didn't need to be done neither, no matter what she says."

Beth nodded, her eyes dropping back to the road again, but only for a moment. "I feel like I should've seen the signs," she said, biting her lip. "If I hadn't overlooked something, or if Carol hadn't missed something, maybe we could've saved her before she went too far."

Daryl shook his head, but he couldn't help smirking. "'Course you think that," he said, but there was no edge to his voice. It was just so _her_—so hopeful and optimistic, yet selflessly taking responsibility for something beyond her control. "You probably could'a too, if she weren't so damn drawn to Carol."

"Daryl," she started, her tone clearly warning him to back off the bite. "You don't know that. You shouldn't blame Carol."

"Can't help it," he said. "Not her biggest fan right now."

Beth nodded, her eyes still on him. "She can feel it too," she said, that knowing look in her eye all over again. "She knows your opinion of her has changed."

"What's that gotta do with anything?" he asked, genuinely curious. He felt like she was trying to connect the dots for him, but, as per usual, he was three steps behind her.

She seemed to struggle once again, looking away as if she was gathering her thoughts. It was strange for him, to see her squirm, as if she didn't know what to say. It told him that it must be something big—something she thought wasn't her place to say, otherwise she would've just said it already.

"It's affected the way she treats me…the way she treats everybody," she said, adding that last after a moment. It certainly pointed him in the right direction, as a million questions instantly sprung up in his mind.

"How's she been treatin' ya?" he asked, coming to an abrupt halt in the middle of the road.

Beth matched his stance and returned the few paces she had taken ahead to face him. "It's nothing, really," she answered, her cheeks turning red. Somehow, he knew what that meant—she didn't want him to feel like she was tattling to him.

"Ya ain't gonna just say that and then not tell me," his tone got an edge to it, but it wasn't aimed at her—it was all for Carol.

"Daryl," she gave him that stern look again, that same one she had shot his way outside their moonshine shack. The thought that Beth not only clearly recognized that his tone wasn't directed at her, but that she seemed to be in the process of making another stand only made him want to smile; but his temper wouldn't allow for it, not now.

"What'd she say?" he asked, taking a step forward while actively working to keep his tone level. It seemed to work as her eyes lightened a bit.

"It isn't anything she really said, more of a feeling I get. She keeps lookin' at you and me and Judith," she paused, her eyes wandering to the ground for a moment in what Daryl suspected might be her gathering her thoughts or her courage. "I just get the feeling that she feels like I'm…in the way."

"In the way?" he asked, thinking he knew what she meant, but seeking confirmation.

"You know," she started, suddenly smiling shyly. He thought—_hoped_—she might be thinking about what those words drew to the front of his mind—the last time he had used that phrase on her. "In the way of caring for Judith…in the way of caring for you."

Beth's eyes were glued to his, to the point that he knew what she was up to—looking for an answer in return from his. He felt his checks warm, as they now seemed to like to do when he spent any extended period of time talking to her.

He had no idea what his eyes may be blabbing to her, but he knew what his thoughts were on the matter. Daryl had suspected that had been the case—that Carol felt like he was obligated to her, or some bullshit—and it was definitely part of the reason he had suddenly made his way over to her and Little Ass Kicker just that morning.

Daryl felt that he and Beth had reached the point where they could read each other, even if they weren't within earshot to read tone and expression. He had seen the tension rolling off of her in waves, as Carol continued to stand there with that nasty indignant look on her face.

When he made his way over there, he wasn't surprised to find that he was right—that Carol had been giving her a bit of a hard time. He had stood back to let Beth make her own stand, just as he had later with the Maggie confrontation—to show her that she could do it, if she had any lingering doubt on the topic. She hadn't let him down, as she managed to turn back to both Carol and Maggie and kill them with kindness, even though he knew she would never think of it like that.

He hadn't automatically assumed that Carol was defensive in regards to him—mostly just Little Ass Kicker, really—but there had been part of him that was wondering. In their time at the prison, she seemed to pay particular attention to him—giving him food and water near constantly as a way of seeing to his needs, pulling him aside to address things in private that would've been better suited for a Council meeting, touching him unnecessarily. All of these things had bothered him in the past, as he didn't generally do well with excessive amounts of attention on him.

But that hadn't been the case with Beth, he realized. She was so selfless, always turning conversations around and making them about him, not her—to address his insecurities, his concerns. He'd try to turn her move back on her, and she'd still find a way to bring it back to him.

Only she was so kind and considerate, so unassuming when she did it—except for that one horrible instance with I Never, but that was long forgiven and basically blamed on his own stupid judgment of introducing booze to the situation—that it naturally left him accepting that it was simply part of who she was.

She wasn't doing it to appease her own selfish needs—to find external validation, proof that they had a connection, to declare that she and she alone had the ability to draw him out—which was the reasoning he suspected was behind why Carol treated him the way she did sometimes. No, Beth was driven to the same type of action out of a completely different motivation—she did it to help him, in an attempt to heal some of his oldest wounds, to appease guilt she thought he had held no responsibility to claim as his own.

It was for that very reason that he had shared so many more things with her than he had with Carol. He could see now, by the prompting of Beth's words, that Carol's clinging to his elbow on the way to the Wal-Mart yesterday had been an attempt to evaluate the situation, namely whether he knew of her actions with Karen and David. From there, he could see that she had hoped to reestablish something between them—that connection that they had once had.

It had been a connection; there was no denying that. Daryl had always felt as if it were sort of a sibling bond; he saw her as nothing more than a sister. But there were times when she'd reach for him, leave her lingering hand on his arm for several seconds too long. Every time, it left him recoiling.

It just hadn't felt natural, hadn't felt right, almost as if it were forced—a means of her establishing that she was different, that she got permission to touch him when no one else did. When, really, it was just that she was the only one who tried and, with viewing her as a sister and with being bad with words, he couldn't bring himself to correct her behavior.

Again, that had never been the case with Beth. As soon as he looped his arm around her to help lift the weight off of her injured ankle, it didn't make him feel like his skin was crawling. He had noted the difference, had written it off at first as little more than a distinction originating in the amount they _both _had shared and the close friendship that had sprung up as a result.

Once they had hit the funeral home, that had all changed, as the touches progressed to be labeled as distinctly something else. By that time, they had seen to taking care of each other; he helped her with training and speaking up for herself, she leant a hand in keeping him human and just inherently _good_.

Yes, he could see it now, what Carol was honing in on. Beth hadn't just taken Little Ass Kicker out of her hands, but Daryl too. He supposed he should feel bad about that—he suspected Beth might—but he couldn't. After all, it hadn't been anything he had started, and it certainly hadn't been anything Beth had begun. It was by Carol's own hands that they had reached this point; it started in the very moment she had taken out Karen and David, isolating herself from not only him, but their family, in the process.

His eyes strained to read Beth's, to take anything she had to offer up to him, as the affect of her words fully started to hit him. Daryl had tried to ignore the clenching in his gut, as he had worked his way towards catching up with her; but now that he had, there was no putting it off any more.

Did this mean she wanted to take care of him? She was saying that Carol felt she had taken that responsibility on as her own, but did that mean she actually had? He knew his answer for her—he would take care of her until his dying breath, should it come to that. He found himself hoping his eyes shared that fact with her, so as to keep him from needing to place words to it.

"That ain't on you, no matter what she says," he said, jumping in to the conversation as a means of looking for any distraction to keep him from overthinking the situation and what he should say. "The fact that she seems ta think it should be her takin' care of…whoever—you shouldn't feel bad 'bout that."

Beth lowered her eyes to the ground with one nod and he knew instantly that it hadn't been enough. She'd never say it, of course—never push him to use words more than he wanted, because she knew he wasn't comfortable with it—but she needed more to know for sure where they stood. Hell, he needed more, if he were to be honest with himself.

"I ain't never needed her ta take care of me," he started and was pleased to find her eyes come back up to his. "She pushed it, constantly at my side, talkin' to me. Some o'a it was helpful," he admitted, with a few small nods.

"But, most'a the time…" he trailed off, trying to figure out how he wanted to describe how it made him feel. "It was just too much and too little. She'd let me scream and yell and tear her a new one, and she'd just sit there and take it. Wasn't right, not from my end and not from hers."

She smiled then, which seemed like an interesting reaction from her, enough that it prompted him to ask her "what?"

"I'm glad to hear you acknowledge that that may not have been your best move," she started, her smile brightening by the moment. "Regardless of how you handled it," she continued. "Thought ya might not like when she did that," she said, her smile falling back into its small, shy stance. "Much better when someone calls you on bein' a jackass, right?"

He smirked as his eyes fell to the road beneath their feet at her words; Daryl knew precisely what she was referring too—that first line she had ripped into him with, that first issue of the hammer against his walls from outside their moonshine shack.

Daryl let go of a laugh as his eyes came up to meet hers again; it made her smile brighten all over again. Damn, that smile, he thought; what he wouldn't give to understand how and why she's able to find it so easily.

"Didn't need her takin' care'a me anyway," he said, recoiling a bit as his thoughts moved to remember some of the awkward conversations and little touches she had tried to initiate.

"Well you can't depend on anyone for anything, right?" she asked and, although he could tell she was in part joking, there was something else there in her eyes too. He realized, after a moment, that she was asking the question that they both had tiptoed around since she had come stumbling out of that forest just the night before.

Could he depend on her? Did he want her to depend on him? It was too late, he reckoned, if he didn't. They had been depending on each other for weeks, for more than just survival too, he realized—they relied on each other to build a _life_.

He shrugged, attempting to give off an air of indifference, despite the fact that he knew his eyes gave him away—gave away just how important he knew this question was. As the perfect response came to him, he even felt his smirk tugging at him again; he submitted almost instantly.

"Things like that…they can change, _people_ can change," he said, his eyes still never leaving hers.

Daryl almost knew what she was going to say, long before it left her mouth. Regardless, he eagerly awaited hearing it—hearing the confirmation his insecurities had been begging for over the course of the last week.

"You did," she definitively declared, surprising him. He had expected this exact response, but perhaps in the form of a question, as a means of confirming it for herself.

But, then, he remembered, she had known; at least part of her had. _I'm not gonna leave you_. She had said it and it had pulled him through some of his darkest nights with Joe and his men—helped him to push back those insecurities that demanded attention, that urged that there still remained that chance that things hadn't changed for her like they had for him.

Just like that, just with her declaration, he knew what he needed to supply in return. "Maybe you gotta keep on remindin' me sometimes."

Nodding her avid agreement, her smile felt nearly frantic. As he watched her turn back towards the road leading to the Wal-Mart, he thought perhaps she was in need of some form of a distraction, some way to not overthink all that they had just shared. Daryl was doing some overthinking of his own, as he took in what she had said—that he had changed, that he had become someone who needed more than just a means of survival to truly be happy.

It drew his attention back to some details he had purposely skipped over in their sharing from the previous night. Suddenly, knowing the line they had just crossed, he knew he owe it to her—to be upfront with all of the horrible mistakes he had made when she had been gone.

If he were to be honest, he wanted to hear her thoughts on it. Part of him worried that it would be the final nail in his coffin—that she would finally realize just how horrible of a person he really was, that he wasn't so different from Joe and his men. But, the bigger part of him, the _logical _part, knew that she'd remind him, just as she always had, just as she always would.

"The group I was with," he started, releasing a sigh to show his discomfort; but he knew this needed to be done. "They had this code. Ya wanted somethin', ya claimed it. It gave 'em an excuse to have no common sense and take whatever the hell they wanted."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Beth was watching him closely. But, as she remained silent, he knew he needed to continue, to get this off his chest.

"One of 'em, Joe—the head guy. He told me there was nothin' sadder than an outdoor cat that thinks it's an indoor cat. Tellin' me that I was nothin' but a damn fool—cheated inta thinkin' by someone else that I was different—cheated inta thinkin' I was better than Joe and his group." He paused as he brought his eyes up to look forward for just a moment before lowering them to the road again. "Thought I was no better than 'em, that we were the same, that there was an _us_."

He waited, wondering if she would respond. Daryl seriously doubted she would, though, because he wasn't done and she just always had a way of knowing that.

"First," he started again, when she followed through on his prediction and didn't answer. "I started believin' him. I…I thought I'd'a made a mistake, that _you _made a mistake. Started to realize I was no different…no better than those assholes."

He sighed, seeing the strain on her face. "'Bout five minutes later, I knew Joe was just tryin' ta get under my skin. He could see—could see that I may fit in with 'em from what I looked like, but that I wasn't no asshole no more—that I didn't live like that now, that it'd been that way fer a long time. He was just screwin' with me, tryin' to get me on his side.

"But I had ta stick with 'em. Can't be alone in this world no more," he said with a shake of his head to reaffirm it to himself. "And when Joe told me that he thought the world was fallin' together instead'a fallin' apart, that it was made for guys like _us_, I knew ya were right.

"I done a lotta shitty things in my life," he continued with another sigh. "But I'd'a never wished this world on no one." He stopped for a second and risked looking at her and was surprised to find a smile on her face; she looked, he hesitated to think, _proud _of him. It encouraged him to continue.

"And when we found that sign fer Terminus, I knew I had ta keep wit' 'em, play along, play their game. I thought ya were behind me, hoped Rick mighta been 'head'a me.

"I hated it," he recalled as he thought back to the time he claimed the strawberry. It had been the only time he had said it—he just couldn't bring himself to do it again, no matter how much he knew he needed to stay on their good sides. "But I did it," he finished as he turned to look at her once more.

"You did what you had to do," she responded without hesitation with a reassuring nod. "And, if you hadn't, you never would've found Rick…and the others."

He nodded, his eyes unable to leave hers. What was it about her that made him look at her, even when he really wanted to do anything else?

"And they were wrong," she added, her expression and her tone very serious as she echoed his words from earlier. "That isn't who you are anymore—isn't who you've been for a very long time," she said with one final nod. Daryl, still unable to look away from her, felt her hand suddenly on his arm as she reassuringly ran her fingers over the sleeve of his jacket.

"I'm proud of you," she spoke again, drawing his eyes back up to hers. "That you joined them, that you knew it wasn't the life you wanted, that you knew what it meant to _live_, not just survive," she finished as her hand gripped his arm once more before releasing it.

Daryl released a deep sigh as he felt a little more weight leave him from his remaining guilt from hanging around Joe's group. He had been meaning to tell her, had thought about doing it last night—knowing she would be able to help him alleviate some of that remaining weight on his shoulders.

But he hadn't been ready, hadn't wanted to face it head on just yet, so he had fallen on old habits and turned to his anger on the Maggie issue to push him through. He knew the Maggie thing needed to be brought out first anyway, especially given the concern he had felt that she may be upset he had said anything to begin with.

When his eyes came up to take in the road ahead once more, he spotted the store just down the street a bit further.

"Is it cleared out?" she asked.

"It should be pretty good. Just went through it last night," he clarified as they started making their way across the parking lot that was littered with broken down and useless cars.

Regardless, as soon as they managed to pry the doors back open, they fell straight into formation, sweeping through the store once more to just to be assured that they were safe. No Walkers were spotted and, as soon as they reached the very last corner of the building, they both moved to stand in more relaxed postures and put their knives away.

"Wanna show you somethin'," he said as he turned to walk in the direction of the outdoors department.

He felt her stop moving from beside him several seconds before his brain registered the fact. When he turned to see what had distracted her, he knew, based purely on their surroundings, exactly what she had found.

Daryl joined at her side as she ran a hand along the tire of the nearest bike that was in front of her. Before she could even speak, he felt his head shaking in a preemptive attempt at a response.

"We're cuttin' two down," she stated, turning back towards him with her brightest smile in place. The determination on her face only grew at spotting the shaking of his head.

He took in the sight of her hard-set jaw and the excitement in her eyes, in her smile, and he knew he was doomed. If he thought he could resist her request, he had been definitely deluding himself.

"Fine," he responded with a sigh. "But we ain't doin' this 'til we got everythin' we can think of."

Beth nodded, barely contained glee on her face. It almost made him laugh, prompting him to marvel at her ability to easily convince him to do so many things—things he was sure none of the others would've had a shot in hell of persuading him towards.

They made their way deeper into the outdoors section and each grabbed a large duffle bag, once again with no words needed between them.

"Com'ere," he said as he led the way towards the bows. As soon as he found the one he wanted for her, he pointed it out and was delighted to hear her gasp in response. "Thought that one could be yours."

"Daryl," she whispered as she reached in and took it off the wall. It was a bit smaller than his, but it would definitely get killing Walkers done. "It's perfect," she said with another smile.

It still amazed him that she found so much to smile over. And damn it if it wasn't contagious, he thought, as he fought off another smile in return to hers. Yet another change she had brought upon him. He wasn't complaining, he thought, as he watched her take in the bow with wide, bright eyes.

"Grab yourself plenty'a bows while I grab the last few left'a mine."

After they had swiped as much from the weapons aisle as Daryl thought was physically possible, they wandered the rest of the store together, grabbing as many blankets and clothes as they could get their hands on.

He weaved himself over to the tobacco counter and grabbed a couple packs of cigarettes. When he turned, he found Beth looking at him disapprovingly with a few shakes of her head. He merely smirked in reply as he made his way back around the counter to her side.

Beth grabbed his hand and pulled him silently over to the baby section before she set to perusing. Daryl knew immediately when she found what she was looking for by the sound of her gasp.

"Look," she said, confirming it for him. She pointed to a box that looked manageable enough. He could carry it now, he thought, but he worried he wouldn't be so willing after a few months on the road. "It folds up. We can give it a shot carrying it back today and, if it ever gets to be too much, we can try to find something else?" she asked, looking to him for an actual answer.

He nodded as he picked the box up, pleasantly surprised that it wasn't too heavy. It was a good start, he thought.

Before he could even think another thought, she was on the move again. Daryl followed silently behind her, curious to see where she was going. When they arrived at the book section, he resisted the urge to clear his throat in pointed sarcasm at her priorities.

But, after a moment, she came forward and reached something out for him. Immediately he was grateful he had checked his brash impulses. He should've known it wasn't her she was looking for; it never was.

"What's this?" he asked, trying to keep his tone gruff.

"The book that follows the one I gave you at the funeral home," she said with a smile on her face, not a shred of doubt there that he still had the book in question.

She wasn't wrong—he had kept the book with him the entire time she had been gone, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to read it. Instead, he had tucked it in her bag, as a precaution against Joe's assholes finding it and destroying it.

"You keep it for me," he said, nodding to Little Ass Kicker's bed in his hand. "'Sides, the other one's been in your bag for safe keepin' since I lost ya."

This made her smile, which surprised him and didn't all at the same time. She always found a way to smile and it only marveled him more every time she did it.

"We done now?" she asked as she walked by him. He already knew where she was going.

He sighed, desperate to hide the fact that her enthusiasm was definitely having an affect on him. Much like the made up Walkers, he didn't see any merit to taking two of the bikes down and going for a ride, but he knew she was initiating a gesture—and _that_ he could appreciate.


	23. Exploration

****Note of an Updated Version—I've posted a second edition of this chapter, merely with a few additional author's notes. No content has been changed whatsoever :-)****

**To my Brazilian reviewer—Once again you have nearly rendered me speechless! The incredibly high compliment that you paid to me—to indicate that you are ****_addicted_**** to my writing—just absolutely takes my breath away. I hope that I can conjure up enough remaining thoughts and story potential to create a sequel, for that one compliment alone. I'm so happy that you are eagerly awaiting a kiss—you shall get your wish soon! Finally, I'm relieved that the Maggie and Carol solutions were satisfactory to you. I particularly enjoyed how you evaluated both—giving Maggie a lesson in maturity and informing Carol that no temper tantrums will be tolerated. It made me smile :-) As this will be my last update and, therefore, my last means of responding to any further reviews you issue, please feel free to explore the links I have provided in my profile as to how to contact me, should you ever feel the need to provide further feedback or insights into my story. It would be my pleasure to continue the conversation, as I always enjoy hearing your responses :-)**

Beth didn't even wait for a response as she brought the pair of them back to stand by the wall of bikes. She didn't say another word as she merely stood there expectantly, waiting for him to cut two of them down for her.

Daryl looked at her as if he didn't know what the heck she was waiting for. When his eyes found hers, and found the determination she was certain resided there, he merely sighed and set to finding some way of getting them down.

It took a few minutes, but he managed to do the job, retrieving one for himself before he turned to her. "What'd'a want?" he asked, and his consideration made her smile.

Without another word, she pointed out the one she wanted to claim as her own. As he worked to get hers down, she rounded the corner and plucked two helmets off a rack. While she heard him continue to work on extracting the bike, she sorted out the helmets, separating them from the materials connecting them to their backing.

Just as he got the bike down to ground level, she came around the corner, helmets in both hands.

Daryl actually laughed disbelievingly at the sight of them before shaking his head. She shook her head in return, as she approached him and put it on his head before he even had a chance to complain. The lock clicked in place as he looked at her, scowl in place. Her smile was practically radiating off of her face—she could practically feel it.

"Fits ya perfect," she said before biting her lip to control the laughter that wanted to break from her.

She was surprised when he didn't complain, just settled for sighing. "I ain't doin' this alone. Let's see it," he said, pointing frustratingly to the helmet that was still in her hand.

"With pleasure," she said pleasantly as she snapped her own in place.

The look on his face seemed to say he hadn't expected something about the situation, as his eyes were slowly consumed in that look he had given her at their funeral home. Unwittingly, color flooder her cheeks at the sight of it, leaving her feeling oddly shy and unsure of her next move. As she turned in search for a distraction, her eyes fell on the sight of her bike. It was perfect, she thought, with a smile. She'd missed things like this.

She took both duffles as Daryl picked up Judith's bed. Once she climbed on to her bike and made her way towards the front of the store, Beth realized the extra weight forced her to struggled to maintain her balance a bit; both bags were filled to the brim with as many blankets, weapons and materials as they could get their hands on. She stopped when she reached the front of the store to help him pry the door open. But, when she put the stand down and turned to find him, he wasn't there.

Beth grew worried just before Daryl appeared from around the corner, walking his bike and the crib to the front. She felt her eyes roll as she scoffed at him. "You could've ridden it here," she reminded him. "Would've gotten you here faster," she teased.

"No hurry," he said with a casual shrug. No there really wasn't, she realized, as the sky, even in its cloudy state, told her it wasn't even noon yet. When she thought of the rush she had been in over the course of the last week to find him, and the contrast of the lazy sort of wandering they had engaged in through the Wal-Mart, she felt she could do nothing but smile in return as they moved to pry the doors back open.

Due to the weight of the duffle bags and the crib, they both walked the bikes to the edge of the parking lot, weaving through the lot of dead cars as they went. They came to a stop right by the side of the road, where the graveyard of cars finally thinned out a bit.

Beth eagerly dropped the bags full of materials and took to the bike to start doing circles on the road. For the first few laps she kept her eyes peeled for Walkers, but all seemed quiet. Regardless, every few laps she felt for the reassuring hilt of her knife on her belt.

"Come on," she prompted, as she noticed Daryl stalling, still standing at the edge of the road smoking his cigarette. "Get some exercise and work out that cancer inducing smoke from your lungs," she said with a smile.

"Ya call this exercise?" he said, smirk on his face.

In that moment, in their exchange of banter, the situation felt dangerously similar to their game of I Never. Beth realized the two were connected, as the bike ride merely served as the latest in a long line of activities she had managed to get him to do, despite knowing he wasn't likely to engage in it with anyone other than her; I Never had been the very first. The conjunction would've worried her, given the chaos that had erupted from the game; but, even if it had gotten off to a rough start, she had to admit that, in the end, it had worked out well enough the first time around.

And, now, she thought, things were different. More time had passed; they now knew each other better than anyone else did in the entire world. After that last conversation, there was no going back to the way things had once been, before their moonshine shack.

With a smile, she realized once again just how lucky she was—to have found her family, to have found him, to have addressed the lingering issues from their funeral home. She couldn't contemplate how she had possibly managed to get fate on her side, to be this fortunate—to have him, to know him so well and for him to know her in return. Weren't many people left who could say that, she thought, with a smile.

"Yes, I do," she answered with a pleasant smile. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him put his cigarette out with a sigh and climb on the bike. It made her want to laugh to see him protest this much, but knowing that she was possibly the only person left in the world he would do things like this for hindered the impulse, producing a nervous smile in its stead.

"Is it anything like riding your motorcycle?" she asked him, once he tackled the first lap or two.

"No," he answered gruffly and without hesitation.

"I wish you still had it," she said wistfully, thinking once again of their time spent at the prison.

"Me too," he agreed.

"I always wanted to ride on it, but you can imagine what my daddy would've said to that."

He nodded, looking troubled for a minute over the loss of her father. They all missed him; she could feel it, even if none of them talked about it.

"If I find one," he started, his voice suddenly a bit scratchy to her ears. "I'll take ya out on it."

It made her smile as she felt her cheeks brighten for what had to be the hundredth time today. She recalled the conversation they had shared just had earlier, his insistence that he had changed—that he _depended _upon her; his comments had made her blush more than she had thought possible, as a frenzied smile overcame her in response. She had been pleasantly stunned into silence.

At the thought of what he had said, how he had said it—how he had _looked _at her as he did so—Beth suddenly felt compelled to pull herself to a stop as she took in the sight of Daryl Dixon, archer extraordinaire, on a sports bike with a helmet on. She knew he'd never admit it, but she could see the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, even as he fidgeted in discomfort.

Deciding to follow her impulses, she took off her helmet and looped it over the handlebar. She came to a stand and kicked out the standing bar that held up the bike.

"Somethin' a'matter?" he asked. As she turned around, she found that he had stopped moving and was watching her intently.

Her feet carried her without her really knowing what was going on. Before she knew it, she was standing directly in front of him. He looked so puzzled that it nearly made her smile; the helmet certainly finished the process.

Knowing he hated it, was wearing it purely because she had asked him to, she knew the compassionate thing to do was to take him out of his misery. With one click, she unbuckled the lock and slipped it off his head, looping it through the handlebar as she had done to hers moments before.

His hair, in the crazy length it had obtained since they had first moved into the prison, was now standing all over. It made her laugh, as she instinctively brought her hand up to finger comb it back to some sense of normality.

The action was too intimate for him; she had known that would be the case as soon as her fingers had weaved their way through his hair. A hand to the arm to sooth his temper was one thing; running fingers through his hair was another matter entirely. But she was so elated at the thought that they were done dancing around this—elated that she had his answer, and that she had given him one in return—that she found her actions driven by something that clearly wasn't associated with her head.

She wanted him to know more, she realized. She wanted him to know…_everything_. Beth couldn't even really put words to what she wanted him to know, she just knew he had to know it or she was going to burst.

Daryl's eyes looked shyly away from hers, down towards his lap. He had always been wary of intimate contact, but that was slowly chipping away—had been since the time they had spent at their moonshine shack.

Regardless, she was still pleasantly surprised when his eyes came back up to hers, shortly after parting ways. It impressed her, that he was facing her in light of the fingers still making their way through his hair. And that look was back yet again—the one from the kitchen in the funeral home.

She knew then, there was no turning back now. She was in this.

Knowing that, she lowered one hand to his shoulder to stabilize herself as she started to lean in. Just before her lips were about to make contact with his, his issued one breath—a warning. "Beth."

She had time to shake her head to dismiss the disclaimer twice before her lips were on his. For the first few seconds, he seemed to not know what to do with himself. Beth held adamant, though, as she continued to move her lips against his.

Her fingers firmed in their hold on his hair, as she tried to draw him in closer. Just then, something seemed to snap in him. She felt his arm slide around her waist, pulling her in closer in one abrupt draw; the forward momentum caused her to stumble a bit as a sound of surprise left her lips.

Daryl took advantage of the sound and the opportunity it afforded. His tongue slipped sneakily into her mouth before she even had a moment to process his intentions. Beth was in no way complaining, though, as she felt her other hand run down his arm to his bicep on its own accord.

Just as quick as something had changed in him, he shut it down, pushed his impulse to pull her closer away. With a start, he stood from the bike, smoothly swinging his leg out of his own way to take a few steps back. The bike crashed to the ground, causing a deafening sound that made Beth groan and wish for the peace of moments prior.

When she found him pacing, she was unsurprised. She had expected him to struggle with this—it was for that very reason that she knew she had to be the one to initiate it. Beth knew him well, knew that his insecurities troubled him, just as hers continue to press upon her shoulders. It only confirmed for her what she needed to say next.

"I want to share this with you," she said, not leaving any room for finesse. She wanted to get straight to the point, address what he was feeling, address what he needed to hear. As it were, she wondered if he might be in need of clarification on her declaration; it was a new topic for them, a whole new exploration, really—a notion perhaps previously thought on rarely, but certainly never pursued.

When Daryl turned to her, there was a clear shock on his face—it told her that, at the very least, he vaguely understood her intentions. He would not need further clarification on her part, she realized with a bit of relief; it would allow them to get down to the matter itself.

She was, once again, without surprise, as she took in the rising level of discomfort overcoming his face. They had only just truly finished their conversation from their funeral home earlier this very morning, and yet, here she was, already progressing matters further, towards the physical—a subject he typically tolerated, not one he delighted in. Beth found herself wondering if he gathered just how far she intended for this to go; if the shock and distraught on his face was any indication, she thought he just might have.

She watched as he seemed to grip for straws in an attempt to find a reason, any reason this shouldn't happen. Whatever he arrived at, she knew she needed to be prepared to defend herself, defend her choices.

"Beth…it's just…things like this. We shouldn't be doin' 'em," he started, not looking at her. "Not yet. I don't wantcha to feel—maybe when you're older—"

"I'm not so young to be immune from dying tomorrow, Daryl," she responded, but there was no cruelty in her tone. If anything, her voice cracked, as she thought of the time they had spent apart, the horrible things the future had the potential to bring, if things didn't go their way.

Her words prompted a groan to escape him, as his hands found their way to his face to rub his eyes tiredly.

But she wasn't done, she realized, only getting started, really. "If—If I were to…lose you," she paused, as she felt herself swallow roughly. She couldn't bring herself to think of a fate any worse than that. "Or if I were to get lost again, and I hadn't gotten to share this with you, to share how I feel about you like this…" she trailed off for a moment, trying to push through the prominent warming of her cheeks as she thought of how she should say what her heart was advocating for. "It would be my biggest regret."

These words sent a wave of frustration through him, as his pacing resumed and she heard him grumbling and muttering under his breath, even as it changed pace, became shorter and more erratic. She couldn't be completely sure what was bothering him, but she certainly had a decent idea. The risks involved were high—the loss of Lori still rang clear as a bell in her memory, and she felt certain he wasn't ignorant to it either.

She held her silence as she waited for him to regain his calm and turn to face her. Daryl ran another hand over his face again as he released one last deep breath. "I don't deserve ya," he said, eyes steady on hers now. "No where near good enough to be the one ya pick."

It hurt her to hear those words coming from him. He had alluded to this in the past, found his way to talking around it several times before. But, hearing the actual words—it made her heart hurt for him.

At the same time, she felt another wave of affection for him erupting in her gut. He was so humble, not even able to see how he amazed her more with every passing interaction. It made her smile, as she took a cautious step over the bike and began to approach him. When he failed to step back, to try to step away from her, it only encouraged her more.

When she reached him, she placed a hand on his cheek. His lack of recoiling as he watched her eagerly for her next move only fueled her on further.

"You may think that," she started, feeling tears prickle at her eyes. "But I certainly don't. You're one of the best men I've ever met. I can't think of anyone else who deserves to love and be loved in return more than you.

"I choose _you_," she continued, as she noticed Daryl, much like herself, wasn't breathing. "I want _you_. My decision has already been made," she reassured him with a nod. "So the only question that remains is what you're gonna do about it."

They stood in silence for several long seconds as Beth did her best to remember how to breathe. Her own mind was far too frantic to even try to decipher what his might be doing at the current moment. All she could do was wait him out, and hope that he believed her words.

Without warning, he reached down and grabbed her hand. Before she even really knew what was happening, he had woven them half way through the car graveyard to make their way quickly back towards the Wal-Mart.

She didn't dare comment, didn't dare question, as he singlehandedly pried open the glass doors. His fingers were still linked through hers as they made their way through the store.

There was a distinct edge to him that made her think he may have agreed with her words. Beth did her best to take in the departments they travelled through, constantly trying to work a few steps ahead of him to see where he might be dragging them to—anything to give her a hint as to his response.

When they slowed as they entered the health section, Beth's suspicions were piqued. She now had a relatively certain idea of what they were looking for in here.

Daryl prowled the last few rows until he found what he was looking for. Her cheeks turned fifty shades of red as she saw him looking over the items the wall had to offer him. Without much hesitation, he reached forward and grabbed a single box of condoms; the action sent a thrill down her spine.

They had taken two steps forward when he suddenly came to a jerk of a stop, causing her to collide into his back. With a barely suppressed gasp, she watched him reach back over his shoulder to grab a couple more boxes.

A _couple_, she wondered with a bright smile. While she had never suspected that what was between them would result in a single occurrence, the physical reassurance of it was nice.

Beth had never seen him walk as fast as he did, weaving their way deftly through the cars to make their way back to the dropped bed, bikes and duffle bags. Casually, he dumped all but one box of condoms in a duffle, before picking up both bags and the crib. She squeaked, trying to tell him that she could help, but as he took a few steps forward, he didn't seem worried on the matter.

His eyes came up to scan the stores, still avoiding hers as he did so. If she didn't know any better, she might say he was nervous and embarrassed. It relieved her that he could be feeling those emotions as well.

In the wait, she tightened her hold on his hand. Daryl didn't look to meet her eyes, but she could feel his reaction, as his body pulled taut. He appeared to be looking around for something in the street, but his eyes seemed out of focus, his thoughts evidently elsewhere.

Beth couldn't wait any longer. Acting on her impulses once again, she drew herself in closer to him and kissed him once again. Unlike the struggle of last time, Daryl responded immediately, dropping the crib to slip the arm that wasn't currently working to keep the bags on his shoulder wrapped around her waist and pull her in tighter.

Daryl took a step closer to her, his body pushing her backward until she had no choice but to take a step away. He followed her for several steps until they were both jolted out of the situation when Beth tripped on some unforeseen porch steps and fell backward.

She felt Daryl's arm hug her back, as he took the brunt of the fall for both of them. Their eyes each wandered up to the sign above the porch they had just fallen onto.

When the chipped paint seemed to indicate it was a Bed and Breakfast of some sort, Beth felt a thrill go through her. It was just too perfect, she thought, as she looked back to Daryl with a smile.

"If we're gonna do this," he started, his cheeks turning a nice red to match hers. "It ain't gonna be on the street."

She bit her lip as he pulled her to her feet. They made their way to the door and he followed their usual procedure of banging on the surface. No Walkers emerged, but Beth could hear their groans from the other side of the door.

"Stay here while I clear it out."

"No," she said sharply as she reached up to grab his hand to keep him from going in through the door. "From here on out, we make decisions together and face the actions and consequences together. Deal?" she asked.

Beth could tell he wasn't thrilled at either idea—neither leaving her behind or taking her in there with him. But, in the end, he agreed with a grumbled response; the familiarity of his begrudging agreement made her smile.

Together they made their way through the house, exploring every possible crevice for any sigh of Walkers. There were no Walkers on the first floor, which explained why none had come out at the noise they had offered. There were a few on the second floor, which were quickly eliminated as they worked together to cover each other.

The third floor was devoid of any Walkers. Regardless, Daryl opened every door to explore every last room, just to be sure. At the last door in the hallway, he looked back to her and motioned forward silently. Beth slid past him to enter the room, which looked to be the best in the house.

No matter what state the bed had been in, it would've looked amazing to her. She hadn't had a bed since they had left the funeral home, which felt to be weeks ago, but had only been mere days, she realized. Regardless, it looked welcoming—perfect, in her opinion, as she took a few steps further into the room.

When she remembered how much time that had seemed to pass since their time together at the funeral home, she couldn't help but turn back to look at Daryl. He was still at work, sliding a dresser in front of the door for added protection.

The moment he was done, Daryl turned to face her. He seemed to be nervous, but he pushed it away quickly as he shoved their bags down to the floor and came to her immediately.

His lips found her first, just before one hand wound around her waist and the other weaved through her hair, loosening the elastic that held it in place. The arm around her waist pulled her in close, closer than she thought she had ever been to anyone. The contact had her releasing a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. Both her hands ran up the sleeves of his jacket, as she found herself missing those sleeveless shirts of his from right after the fall of the prison.

She heard herself making little noises of surprise as he continued to kiss her. In truth, now that they had gotten here, she didn't even know where to begin with what to do with herself.

Fortunately for her, it seemed Daryl could practically read her mind. His hands left her, but only for a moment to lower his jacket and vest to the floor. Both her small hands tried to wrap around his biceps and failed to do so.

He got to work on his return, leaving her lips temporarily to get rid of the gray sweater she still wore. As soon as it was gone, Daryl picked her up by her waist, forcing a gasp of surprise out of her as Beth wrapped her legs around his hips out of reflex.

Daryl walked them over to the bed and they fell rather unceremoniously onto the comforter; it made her smile to think of Daryl as disheveled, but that would seem to be what he was here, in bed with her. For the first time in a long time, she didn't even notice the smell of mold that permeated through the sheets and the mattress. All she could smell was something distinctly _Daryl_.

Her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him in closer, forcing him to settle between her legs. Beth felt his hand run along her stomach and she gasped at its sudden appearance there.

The gasp gave him another opportunity to repeat what he had done earlier, she noticed, as his tongue eagerly slipped through her lips to enter her mouth. She didn't know why it drove her crazy when he did that; she and Jimmy had even managed to go that far, but Jimmy was, of course, definitely not Daryl.

One of her hands wandered up to weave through his hair again. She seemed incapable of letting that go, ever since she had meandered through it when they were on the bikes. Despite the fact that they rarely got to bathe, it wasn't greasy. It was oddly soft, she noted as she gripped it tighter, pulling him in closer.

Without even realizing she was doing it, her thighs parted a bit more. It wasn't until Daryl released a small groan that she noticed the only thing that remained between them now was layers of clothing; there was no room to be had between the two.

Daryl pulled away, his breathing thick and heavy as his lips wandered down to her neck.

"Stop me," he said against her skin. It gave her chills.

"Never gonna happen," she tilted her head up, granting him further access to further prove her point.

As his fingers inched further up her stomach, she felt a smile overtake her. Not only did the move tickle her a bit, but it also brought a stark realization of what was happening right now, and who it was happening with. Suddenly she felt elated, irrationally happy.

The laugh didn't really come off as a laugh, though, she realized, as it turned a bit breathier than she had expected it to.

The pressure Daryl put on her neck and her stomach fought for which should hold her attention. As always, when his voice hit her, it demanded to be heard and settled the debate in an instant.

"Can I?" he asked, as one of his hands tugged on the hem of her shirt.

Not trusting her voice as another sound that she hadn't anticipated erupted from her throat, she settled for merely nodding enthusiastically. As if by habit, her eyes squinted shut, as he raised her to a sitting position and tugged her shirt over her head, only to lower her to the sheets once more.

No one had seen her like this; no one had even _felt_ this area of her. Knowing that it was silly to be so, she felt a wave of paranoia wash over her, as insecurities about having the smallest breasts of all her friends resurfaced from her more formative teenage years.

But, then she remembered. Daryl struggled to communicate with words; his eyes told her everything she needed to know. Begrudgingly, she forced hers open and took in the sight of him.

His eyes were trained on every part her torso had to offer. They raked over her as she saw something enter Daryl's eyes she wasn't so sure she had ever seen before. Hints of it, maybe. But never anything like this.

Suddenly, his eyes came back up to her face as he leaned in to kiss her again. Impatience seemed to be a new theme, as he now nipped at her bottom lip to coax her into opening up for him. It took two or three bites, but she finally rendered his intention from her dizzy mind.

As soon as he lay against her chest, something was missing. She realized she needed to get his shirt off, needed to feel his skin against hers. Regretfully, she removed her hands from around his neck, where they had automatically returned to, and started work on his shirt buttons.

For the briefest moments, she felt a strain come over him, as he paused in kissing her. He tried to play it off, as he lowered his head to the crook of her neck and drew in a series of deep breaths, but she knew she hadn't imagined his hesitation.

_The scars_, she thought. Beth wasn't so naïve as to think Daryl hadn't been in this position before; he may be her first, but she felt certain she was not his. It didn't bother her, but she didn't delude herself into thinking any other truth could exist.

However, with that moment of hesitation, Beth grew to suspect that, no matter how many women he had been with, no matter what story comprised his past, she could rest assured that she was the first and only that would see his scars, the only one who had already been witness to his scars, long before they reached a position where the question could be issued.

It made her itch with anticipation to get his shirt off, to feel his skin against hers. Her hands gripped frantically, blindly, as the sensation of his lips against her neck made her feel breathy all over again.

Finally the shirt was no longer an issue, as she pushed it forward from his shoulders. He did the rest, as he removed it from his arms one at a time before returning them to their place at her sides.

Her hands instantly set to work, running over his shoulders to pull him in closer once more. When their skin met, she released another unexpected gasp of breath. Daryl, she noticed, had a similar hitch in his breath at the sensation.

The sound fueled her on, told her that he was reacting to this just as strongly as she was. Her fingers stumbled upon the scars and she felt him hesitate again.

"It's part of you," she whispered into his ear and was surprised to find his eyes seeking her out. Even after what they had shared at the moonshine shack, he had been unable to meet her eyes when telling her of the horrors his father had exposed him to. To see him willingly meeting hers now—it told her that so many things had changed, were still changing with every new exploration they set on together. "I hate that it happened to you, but it's a part of _you_. And I rather like _you_," she said, with one final assuring nod.

She felt him relax as he leaned in and started kissing her again. Her arms wandered down to his stomach, where she hummed at the feel of his muscles, hard at work holding himself up from putting too much weight on her.

Beth slipped her arms under his to run her hands over his back in further detail. If seeing the scars had been difficult, feeling the depth and sheer amount of raised skin nearly broke her heart. She couldn't even imagine how much pain he had seen.

Out of breath, she pulled from him and brought her lips to his collarbone. She managed to catch her breath sufficiently to whisper in between kisses "I missed you so bad when I was gone, Daryl Dixon."

Daryl's lips stilled instantly in their course up to behind her ear; Beth had no doubt that her intention resonated with him—the way she had chosen to word the statement. The only response she received was a hum of satisfaction against her ear as his hand came up to grip hers tightly. It spoke more volumes than any verbal response could've dreamed of achieving in that moment.

She carried on, running her remaining hand and lips over anything she could reach in an attempt to return some of his favors. Beth had thought she was doing a fairly good job of holding her focus, until she felt his lips start to wander pass the line towards her chest.

Beth turned her head into the crook of his neck, waiting, her breath growing progressively heavier as he drew closer to her chest. Suddenly, his hand released hers to slip behind her back, forcing her spine to arch out of sheer instinct in anticipation of what she suspected he was about to do.

In moments, her bra was gone, tossed to the floor somewhere. She felt him start to pull back to get a better look at her and, out of pure nervousness, her hand weaved into his hair, holding him to her as she continued to hide in his neck, her cheeks now burning red.

Daryl didn't speak a word, which she was incredibly grateful for, as she wasn't so sure she could be trusted to speak right now, with her breath still releasing rapidly.

While Daryl's previous experiences didn't stir jealousy of any measure from within her, it did make her wonder if she would be enough for him. She didn't have an hourglass figure—of that much she was assured. She had always been skinny and the turn and ever shortening food supplies certainly hadn't helped matters either.

Beth, lost in her thoughts and burning insecurities, gasped when she felt his lips moving against her neck again. He put on more pressure this time, going so far as to nip at the skin a bit. She felt her legs relaxing once again, sliding him in closer as one hand lowered to his lower back to run over the newest scar—the one she had helped heal.

Her grip on his hair loosened, as she felt him sliding his lips over her shoulder, down to her collarbone. The arm around his waist pulled tighter, as his creeping down her torso limited the amount of skin she could feel against hers.

She was in the process of lamenting that she hadn't basked in the feel of his naked chest against hers when his mouth suddenly latched on to one nipple. All thought left her as a hand grasped the other bud.

When she heard him, _felt _him hum a bit around her, she couldn't help it anymore. A moan escaped her as the fingers that still lingered in his hair tightened as if she had no control over them.

She felt like he spent days there, and yet it still wasn't enough. His mouth lingered, even as his other hand brushed down towards her jeans. It made her breath hitch to think of the implications.

If the warmth she was feeling all over was any indication, she was more than prepared for this. She was nervous, but not in a negative way. It was more of an anticipation than a concern or worry.

The realization made her want to kiss him again. Both hands met at his shoulders as she pulled on him, brought him up to her mouth and brought her lips to his. One of his arms slid around her back as she propped herself up a bit to get a better angle. She took her turn, as her tongue shyly brushed against his lips, asking permission, just as he had done for her moments before.

Beth could've sworn she felt him smirk at her shy little gesture, of her tongue just brushing against his, unsure of what else to engage in as proper advancement. When he smirked, she seized the opportunity and managed to return his favor of surprise from earlier.

Daryl seemed surprised by that, as she heard him release another groan. She responded in kind as she felt his hips jerk forward, almost as if he hadn't intended to. What she felt there drove her on, as one leg wrapped slowly around his calf, pushing herself forward in the hopes that she could get him to do it again.

His hand came up and found its way into her hair, which she now noticed was completely devoid of the elastic. She didn't care in the slightest, as the freedom allowed his hand to entwine in the tresses all the way to her skull.

He worked her distraction against her again, as she suddenly felt his other hand at the waist of her jeans. One finger was running along the band, just dipping into the skin there. Another quiet moan was released from her, as she felt herself nodding at what she suspected might be a silent question issued from him.

At her eager nod, Daryl placed more weight on her, forcing her to lie flat once again on the bed. Her eyes flew open as she felt his lips suddenly separate from hers and make course down her torso, stopping briefly to hum around each nipple again, before continuing on his path. She actually giggled a bit in glee as he nudged the ticklish spots on her stomach and she was surprised to find Daryl looking up at her when she did.

He hadn't met her eyes in quite some time, but now that he was, he offered up everything to her in those eyes. Daryl wasn't a man for words—like her, he was constantly thinking, processing, observing and perceiving the previously unperceivable.

When she looked at him, she saw that he was hunting—wild, looking at her like she was his prey. Surprisingly, it didn't bother her in the least, because she trusted him completely, knew that she was the only one he had eyes for, the only one he'd look at in that way.

In the years that she had known him, she had certainly never seen him look that way at anyone before. He kept giving her firsts—first looks, first words, first declarations, first explorations and first dedications.

No matter what history he may have, she suspected this was a first for him too.

Whatever she saw in his eyes must've been in some way reflected in her own, as once he met hers, he didn't let them go. She held his stare steady, as he lowered his lips to nip at the small bit of her hipbone that appeared from above her pants. Her breathing became erratic all over again at the move.

The belt and button were undone next, and the zipper shortly followed. She felt her breath hitch again as she realized how close they were getting.

Suddenly, she wished he weren't so far away. She wanted to see all of him too, she thought, as he started to pull her pants down.

He looked away from her then, as soon as her shoes and pants were taken care of, strewn somewhere else on the floor amongst her other articles of clothing. But she could still see that hunger in his eyes, as his hands ran up the outsides of her thighs, all the way up to the waist band of her only remaining piece of material on her body.

Daryl didn't remove them, though, not yet. He ran his hands back down to her knees, where he prompted her to ease her legs slightly up off the bed.

His lips found her then, kissing a pathway up one thigh, and then the other. At some point, he started looking at her again and the combination of the two made her think she might explode.

She needed to see him too. There was no option in her mind, not anymore. Looping her hand in the crook of his arm and his shoulder, she did her best to try to grab his attention. His eyes questioned her for a moment, as she continued to tug.

Of course, he didn't just slide up to her. He took his time, kissing his way back up her body, humming as he went. She had noticed that, while neither one of them was necessarily vocal in this aspect of life, they never were left wanting for some indication that the other person was enjoying it.

When he finally came up to kiss her again, she could feel that he put more weight on her than he had previously. If she had thought there was no space between them before, she had obviously been wrong, as she felt him slide into place. Again she felt him align with the only remaining piece of material she still donned. He didn't move as he had earlier, but merely sought to hold steady; it allowed Beth to feel him very clearly, even more so than she had earlier.

Beth found her arms wrapping around his back, one falling on a shoulder blade and the other around his waist. She pulled desperately, trying to get him closer to her, as her legs slid further towards her to help the cause.

After a few moments of little results—they were, after all, nearly as close as they could get while he still had his blasted jeans on—she knew what needed to be done. Frantically, she slid her arms around to his front, as she fumbled with his belt and the other obstacles that remained in her way.

Attempting to remove her first pair of male pants while their lips and tongues were intertwined presented a difficult challenge. Somehow she managed the belt and found that that was certainly the most difficult part, as the button and zipper quickly followed it. Her hands slid down the sides of his hips as she did her best to remove the heavy jeans, weighed down with a weapon or two attached to the still on but unbuckled belt.

Daryl's hands came down to help her, as he eased off both his pants and his boxers. She gasped as she felt him against her, before she could even see him. His eyes met hers just as they closed, and she bit her lip, intrigued by the sensation of him resting against her thigh.

Her eyes eased open after just a few seconds and she was surprised to find that he seemed suddenly nervous, as he looked back at her. Beyond her own control, Beth felt a pleased smile overtake her face as she realized again that they were completely bare to each other—completely exposed.

One hand wove its way back to his hair, as it seemed particularly inclined towards, as her other moved down his back with a touch of nervousness. She had a mind for what she wanted to do—for the exploration that she wanted to seek—but she wasn't sure how exactly to go about it.

Her instincts had served her pretty well today, she thought, with a smile, as she realized they were the reason they were here to begin with. Deciding to follow them, she ran her hand around his hip to his front, down his thigh until she found a way to wrap her hand around him.

She saw the questioning in his eyes, the nervousness ever prevalent, before her fingers took him. In a flash he was lowered to her neck, breathing heavily as she just worked to get a good grip on him. It astounded her, how something could feel simultaneously hard and soft. It drew her mad with interest.

Beth's grip on his hair tightened as she pulled him in closer. Her legs lowered back towards the bed to give herself some more room to move her hand. Tentatively, she swiped downward, smearing some of the liquid from the top of him down the length.

Daryl bit down on her shoulder and she felt another moan escape her. She repeated the motion, hoping he would do it again. He didn't disappoint, as she followed through on a few more strokes.

Suddenly, he reached down and grabbed her hand. He intertwined their fingers just as he had done earlier and brought it to rest by her head. A pout erupted on her face before she could even think to check it.

But a moment later, when his face emerged from its spot at her shoulder, she knew he had other ideas. Her curiosity returned as his remaining hand suddenly appeared at her thigh, brushing against the skin as he shifted a bit.

Her underwear was gone a moment later, cast down to the floor. She released a deep breath as she realized what this most likely meant.

Out of reflex, when she felt his finger suddenly slipping into her most private place, to brush against a very sensitive spot, her legs contracted out of pleasure. Beth heard him groan a bit, as he seemed pleased with the reaction she was having to everything he had been doing. The sound sent a chill down her spine.

She had never really touched herself—living on a farm with a daddy that was always lingering out of the corner of your eye didn't really afford for many opportunities for exploration. But it was obvious from her reactions to a mere brush of his finger that this place was something of importance.

Then he shifted, and she was left lamenting the loss of his touch on her again, but only for a second. His finger stumbled a bit, she noticed with a shy smile of her own, as he moved a bit further down her. Daryl's eyes found hers again, still full of that nervous buzzing and desire as he pushed his finger into her.

It was an odd sensation, one that automatically had her breath hitching and trying to force itself out at the same time. His eyes glued on hers nearly did her in, as she heard him groan again, watched him react to what she had to offer. His forehead lowered to her shoulder, where he released several deep breaths, before coming back up to meet her eyes once again; he didn't seem to want to let them go, she thought; it made her smile brightly, even with the current wave of overwhelming sensations she was currently on.

Beth bit her lip, trying to fight the urge to squeal as her breath went all over the place. Noise could draw Walkers, she thought; she had to be careful. Once the finger was in to the hilt, he stopped and waited, his eyes scanning her face. Daryl nodded, and she took that to mean she could react however she wished.

His declaration was appropriately timed, as a squeal actually escaped her moments later when he moved his finger out and back in. The hand that wasn't still intertwined with his ran up to his hair again, as she pulled and tried to get him to lie flat against her; she missed the feel of his chest flush against hers.

Daryl resisted her pull as he continued his ministrations with his finger, which confused her. After a few more strokes, he made his intentions clear as he removed the finger and brought both hands up to open a condom.

He shifted a bit to slide it on himself, revealing him to her eyes for the first time. She had no context on which to compare, but she felt certain that it wouldn't have mattered—he was perfect to her, in every way.

The process of putting on the condom was completed quickly; she found herself wishing he'd go slower, so she could study the process, study him.

Where he had been steady as could be a moment before—putting on the condom—when he turned back to her, he was anything but. His hand came back to intertwine with hers and she felt herself gripping tighter than she had before. His other dropped to her hip. She got her wish as he lowered himself to her, lining them up perfectly.

Beth released one more calming breath as she thought about what was going to happen. She felt his hand fumble away from her hip, as it slipped down lower. Suddenly, she realized what he was doing, as she felt the very tip of him approach her. As if seeking out habitual comfort, her hand found its way to his hair again.

Another shuddering breath was released as she felt him push forth. Stretching started immediately, she noticed. It wasn't painful, but certainly not the most comforting feeling in the world either.

He watched her eyes diligently for a few seconds, as he pushed forward slowly; she did her best to offer them up to him—to give him every ounce of what she was feeling. She knew he was doing his best to control himself, to keep from pushing forward too fast and hurting her; she wanted to show him just how much she appreciated it.

After a few moments, he seemed incapable of maintaining the control that had rendered his body taut with restraint up until this point; his torso lowered to hers once more, his head finding its way to bury itself in the crook of her neck.

His pace held true, though, as his nose rubbed against the skin of her neck. Daryl's breathing was thick, heavy and warm against her skin. It made the moment so intimate for her, so perfect.

When it appeared that he had gone in as far as he could, they each took their time breathing and soaking it in. Beth was relieved to declare that she felt no pain, but that discomfort was still lingering. She forced herself into a regular breathing schedule as she waited for her body to adjust

Daryl was a saint, she thought, as he patiently waited, lingering against her neck. When his lips started moving against her skin, she felt her legs unclench and widen a bit at the sensation. To her surprise, he wedged forward a bit more as his lips came up and met hers again.

The feeling of him pressing against her, inside her, and his lips against hers—it was all so much; she felt a flutter go through her. Whatever that had caused, produced a groan from Daryl as he suddenly pulled back, only to push back into her. She couldn't hold it in any longer—a full moan escaped from between her lips at the sensation.

Their entwined set of hands were moved by him to rest above her head, closer to the pillow, as his other hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. He gripped her tight, almost as if he were afraid of losing her. With a barely contained sob, she thought he might fear just that.

If it were manageable, she found a way to weave her fingers even tighter into his hair, pulling him in closer as he set up a steady, slow rhythm. Their lips parted, as he rested his forehead against hers, eyes locked.

Every few rotations, she noticed he would pause, stop and breathe for just a few moments, before continuing on. Every time he started back up again, he released a small groan; with every sound, a flutter went through her.

Acting instinctually, she brought her legs up to wrap around his waist. She hadn't honestly thought it was possible, but he somehow managed to slide further in on his next return. It made both of them hum as she felt her back arch. It prompted her to start meeting him, thrust for thrust.

His rhythm was still slow and steady. It drove her mad and made her heart flutter all at the same time. She needed him, she realized, as she started arching her hips to meet him quicker than he was returning.

As soon as she started increased the rate of her returning movements, the pace quickened a bit. She felt something snap in him, as the heat in his eyes turned almost hot enough to burn. Daryl's hand that wasn't occupied with gripping hers tightly came up to wrap under her arm to grip her shoulder from underneath, effectively pulling her closer and changing his angle. The shift resulted in his brushing against that sensitive spot every time he pulled out.

Her legs started to shake as his pace quickened. Beth's breathing became erratic, as she nearly moaned every time he brushed against her spot and hummed with every sliding return.

Daryl's eyes were set on hers, not leaving, and demanding that she maintain the same stare. She had no complaints; she couldn't have looked away even if she wanted to.

The world faded away. There were no Walkers, no Governors, no Father Gabriels to separate them. It was just her and him, as she felt that flutter strengthen and her whole body felt like it was about to shatter around him. She let out a breathy moan as the sensations rolled over her.

She felt him push in roughly, gripping her shoulder blade tightly as his hold on their linked hands tightened. A strained groan was issued from him as she felt him go still.

Their eyes never left each other, not even as she felt him settle between her legs and run his hand up to cup her cheek. She couldn't refuse a smile; but, then again, when it came to him, when could she?

:::~:::

Daryl felt his body give out on him, collapsing on top of her. He tried to move away, to take his weight off of her, but she whispered a soft "no, stay," before bringing her hand that wasn't linked with his up to run comfortingly over his back.

"I ain't gonna leave ya," he said, unable to resist the tug of his smirk. When her eyes came up to his, he knew she got his meaning, knew instantly what he was offering her.

He lingered for just a few more moments before he knew he had to slide himself off to spare her of his weight and to see to removing and disposing of the condom. When he returned to lie by her side, he felt her moving towards him, slinging an arm around his waist, that bright smile in place as her eyes sleepily drifted shut.

He knew they needed to get up, needed to get their bags and Little Ass Kicker's crib and start making their way back to the camp. Just lying here, completely inactive, already had his insecurities and fears finding their way back towards pressing in on him.

They whispered so many things. What if she regrets it? It was too early, too fast, too soon. What if she finally realizes he wasn't good enough, at this or for her in general? He didn't think he could take her changing her mind, not anymore—it had gone beyond the point of no return, for him anyway. What would they tell the others when they got back? Would they notice? Would they demand an explanation? They would judge him. He might have to defend himself, defend her. What would he do then? What would be his next move? He'd make his stand, he realized; he'd stand by her and declare it, if the others insisted that he did.

He pushed the thoughts back, determined to not worry over them for just one damn minute. Instead, he focused in on the peace she had to offer, this room had to offer, this life had to offer.

But then he realized, as he glanced down to her and found her watching him, that knowing look on her face all over again, it wasn't just this one damn minute. Even if they had to leave this room soon and return to the horrors of a world gone to shit, even if they were on the road, even if they didn't have a home, even if they got busy settling in, surviving, they would still always thrive, find a way to _live_, because they always managed to, when they were…_together_.

**And that's it! That's the end of the story! I just wanted to leave a note here, to thank those of you who have stuck with this story from page one. There have been quite a few of you who have chosen to consistently review each chapter, to take the time to provide feedback that helped me develop this story so much more than it was originally. For that, I am so incredibly grateful. Without you guys this story never would've turned out as well as it did :-)**

**I'm quite going to miss interacting with all of you! You all had such insightful feedback and ideas and the conversations we engaged in, in regards to these characters, have been so enlightening! Please feel free to peruse over my profile, where I have links to all my Tumblrs and my Twitter. Never hesitate to contact me; I will be checking back here regularly to respond to any further reviews, so, if you need to talk, I'm always still here to listen, either through Private Messages or through one of my other social media sites. **

**Through the above-mentioned conversations, I've also got some ideas stirring for a possible sequel. I tied up most of the loose ends, but there are definitely a few concepts that I could do a bit more with, should I find that they have the leg room to keep up with me. I'm always willing to hear thoughts and prompts, so, should you have any questions, concerns, ideas you'd like to discuss for a sequel or even prompts you'd like to request of me, feel free to Private Message me or contact me through the links in my profile, as mentioned above. Also in my profile, you'll see that I disclose my current projects. Keep an eye there, for it will be the first place I update with news that a sequel is in production. **

**Just one last final thank you, to anyone who endeavors to follow this story through to its end. It means so much to me that the story is able to draw in readers willing to spare their time and energy to reading it. It is the means by which every proper writer measures their success—by how satisfied and dedicated their readers are. That being said, I'm a very happy and lucky writer indeed, to have been so fortunate as to have my story draw in the readers it has managed thus far :-)**


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